


Shells in the Foam (a Hermit!Tommy fanfic)

by Cedarwhisp21



Category: Hermitcraft RPF, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreamons, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), set after tommy's exile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 44,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cedarwhisp21/pseuds/Cedarwhisp21
Summary: When Dream attacks Tommy in Logestshire, Tommy runs. Badly injured, he somehow manages to slip between worlds and wakes up in a badlands biome, on a server far from home, with no other players in sight.The Hermits are surprised when a new player logs in, and confused when no-one's at spawn. Five days later, after waiting for the new player to introduce themselves, Xisuma uses his admin abilities to access their coordinates. He takes Impulse with him to welcome the new player to Hermitcraft, but instead of the beginnings of a base, they find something a lot more concerning.AU belongs to @pertrichormeraki on Tumblr. I just wanted to write something.
Comments: 1082
Kudos: 3947





	1. Cornered

Tommy is scared.

He's hidden on this server for, what, four or five days now, and his nerves are shot. He doesn't sleep, bearly eats, because no-one's tried to attack. They must know he's here, after all- he's got a new communicator and can see the messages they send. He hasn't sent anything himself, of course. Hell, he hasn't even left the little hole he dug out for himself in a badlands biome that he woke up in, injured and confused.

Tommy pulls Wilbur's coat tighter around him with his good hand and tries not to think about what might happen when the server's admin finally teleports to him. Or maybe they'll just /kill.

He's doing a very bad job of not thinking. Though, the thought of losing his final life doesn't sound as bad as it should.

 _At least it won't be to Dream,_ Tommy thinks.

That's when he hears it- the sound of fireworks and then a heavy _thud,_ like the noise Phil makes when he lands.

Tommy forces himself up from the floor and crams his golden helmet onto his head. He has a chest plate, too, both found by a ruined portal, but he can't put that on quickly with only one working hand. 

He grabs his stone axe as he hears a second _thud._ He can make out two voices through the stone and clay and sand, but not what they're actually saying.

Two on one, with him nursing an injured hand that he can't even feel and an eye that's swollen and sealed with blood, plus a possible concussion. Still, Tommy grips his axe tighter.

The sound of someone digging, then mining, soon reaches his ears, and Tommy tries to figure out where they're coming from. He backs himself into a corner and puts on what he hopes is an intimidating expression.

The first player enters his little hole via mining through the roof. They’re wearing some sort of armour, with a helmet that covers their entire face.

Tommy feels a slight jerk in his heart when he realizes that the armour is designed to look like a bee.

They’re unarmed, but a second player quickly follows and makes Tommy think twice about taking a swing.

The second player is decked out in full netherite, except for a chest plate, leaving his black-and-yellow teeshirt exposed. Instead, both players have elytra strapped to their back.

Tommy is well and truly fucked. One he could take on, maybe, if his head would stop spinning whenever he turned it too fast and he had some sort of depth perception, but attacking one would open him up for the other to attack. 

He presses up against the stone and tries to keep them both in his line of sight. It’s not hard- his hidy-hole is only three-by-three, with him in one corner and the other players in the one diagonal to him. But they brought daylight with them, and it makes Tommy’s head pound even more.

“Get out,” Tommy growls, trying to mimic Technoblade when Tommy stumbles in on him dying his hair or working on his plans. Even to him, it sounds pathetic.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” the player in the teeshirt says calmly. “We just wanted to meet the new person on the server. I’m Impulse, and this is Xisumavoid, our admin.”

“Hello.”

Tommy ignores Xisuma and spits, “Well, you’ve met me. Now get out.”

He’s not expecting them to listen, and more so expecting them to laugh at him and then kill him.

So it’s even more of a surprise when Xisuma shakes his head and says, “You’re hurt. Bad, from the looks of it. We can’t just leave you here.”

“Yeah, you can.” Tommy tries to straighten up and readjusts his shaky grip on the handle of his axe. “You don’t know me, or how I got onto what’s clearly a whitelisted server. Hell, I don’t even know how I got here. Why the fuck would you help me?”

Instead of giving the two a reality check, Tommy’s words seem to make Xisuma and Impulse even more confused.

“Because it’s the right thing to do?” Impulse says slowly.

“Because I run the server and have a strict _no-leaving-random-players-to-bleed-out-in-holes_ rule,” Xisuma replies, with an air of finality to his words.

“I’ll be fine,” Tommy grunts. Honestly, are these people idiots?

Xisuma takes one step closer, then another. “Hand over the axe.”

_Tools in the pit, Tommy._

Tommy drops the axe with a blank look on his face, and the only thing that stops him from throwing down the rest of his inventory is Impulse, who appears by his side and makes him sit against the wall.

“Where are you hurt?”

Tommy points to the scabbed-over, bloody, muddy mess that is the right side of his face, then lifts his right hand. It’s turned an ugly, yellow-green colour from his knuckles to below the bandages around his wrist, which is swollen to twice it’s usual size.

“Anything else?” Impulse asks, after a long, worrying pause. Xisuma had taken one look at the hand and immediately backed away, pulling out his communicator.

“Head’s spinning pretty bad,” Tommy admits, defeated. “I can’t do anything too quickly or I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

“Probably a concussion, then.” Impulse digs around in his inventory and pulls out some golden apples, pressing them into Tommy’s good hand. “Eat. Sorry I don’t have any health potions.

Tommy doesn’t want to, feels dread growing in the pit of his stomach at the thought of owing anyone anything, but he’s too hungry and too tired to refuse.

The golden apples taste different from the ones he normally eats- richer, more flavorful, like Impulse made them recently. This, too, bothers Tommy. Gapples are something you eat in battle, often crafted days or weeks before you actually consume them and carefully hidden away in an ender chest or bunker. Even Technoblade’s supply for the Revolution had been small.

Yet, and Tommy has to re-check to be sure, Impulse just handed him a _stack_ of gapples like it was nothing. The man had even apologized for not having potions when he had already given Tommy more than anyone who wasn’t family ever had.

“Sorry, I just realized we didn’t get your name,” Xisuma says, sounding slightly sheepish.

Tommy swallows a bite and replies, “Tommy.”

Xisuma nods and turns back to his communicator, while Tommy keeps eating and Impulse examines his right hand.

_**WARNING: SLIGHT GROSSNESS AHEAD (PROCEAD TO NEXT BOLD TEXT IF DESTURBED BY MAGGGOTS/BLOOD)** _

“When did you lose feeling in it?”

Tommy has to think for a moment. “About two days ago.”

Impulse nods and scrunches his nose. “And when did the smell start?”

“What smell?” Tommy asks. Even as the words come out of his mouth, he notices it. The all-too familiar smell of rotten flesh.

Impulse curses and undoes the bandages made from the bottom half of Tommy’s pants, and Tommy almost throws up.

White maggots, pus, and congealed blood stick to the one’s Impulse is able to pull off. Some are stuck, seemingly moulded to Tommy’s skin with mud and dried blood. The rotten, decaying smell increases tenfold.

“Oh, Notch.” Impulse gags a little, then wraps the bandages back around Tommy’s wrist. “We need to get him to Stress before the infection spreads any more. It’s a miracle he doesn’t have blood poisoning.”

“She’s ready for us,” Xisuma says, tucking his communicator back into his suit.

**_GROSSNESS OVER WITH, SAFE TO READ_ **

Impulse moves to Tommy’s left side, so there’s no risk of bumping his eye, and scoops him up. “Teleport?”

“Yeah.”

Tommy closes his one good eye and leans his head against Impulse’s chest. Now that he’s not hungry anymore, he feels heavy and tired, and there’s no point in trying to stay awake. He’s at Impulse’s and Xisuma’s mercy.

So Tommy gives in to the black void of sleep, and a tiny, traitorous part of him dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, the rest of the server are useless emotional idiots, too.


	2. Nightmares and Introductions

To Tommy’s slight surprise, he actually wakes up.

It’s not for long, though, because someone- possibly Xisuma, based on how much yellow the person’s wearing- notices he’s awake and immediately presses a bottle of healing potion to Tommy’s lips.

The numbness that follows the potion drags Tommy back into sleep, but this time, it’s shallow and terrifying. His dreams are filled with axes and bombs and fireworks and blood, so, so much blood. 

Wilbur dies by Phil’s hand a thousand times over as Tubbo lays in Tommy’s arms, using his dying breath to exile him from his home. Techno laughs like a madman as his withers finish what Wilbur started and turn L’Manberg to ash.

Then Dream’s there, and Tommy runs for him, because Dream in his friend, his only friend, Tubbo is dead on the podium and Dream will help-

“Tools in the pit, Tommy.”

Dream throws him into the hole and nocks an arrow. When he lets it fly, it turns into a netherite axe.

“It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy.”

  
  


The next time Tommy wakes up, Impulse is sitting beside the bed, reading a book. Or maybe just pretending to read, because the second Tommy tries to sit up, he puts the book down and gently guides him back to a laying position.

“Doctor’s orders,” Impulse explains. “You’ve got a pretty bad infection in your hand and Stress says that bed rest is the way to go.”

Tommy keeps his face flat, but inside, he’s panicking. Why are they bothering to help him? What will they demand in payment?

That’s when he notices he’s not wearing Wilbur’s old coat anymore, and his hand flies up to where his compass usually rests. There’s nothing there, and the fabric of the shirt is different.

“Where’s my shit?” Tommy demands, and he feels slightly proud when Impulse flinches.

“Cleo’s fixing your coat, Scar’s scrounging up some new clothes that’ll fit you better than Tango’s Demise-running gear, and your compass is right here.” Impulse reaches over, to a bedside table that Tommy hadn’t seen, and hands him back the lodestone compass.

Tommy snatches it from him and immediately puts it back around his neck, so it rests over his heart. The familiar weight of it on his chest gives him something to focus on besides the dull pain in his wrist and eye, and soon Tommy feels slightly less panicked.

Not less stressed, through. He can only see out of one eye and his wrist is probably going to be out of commission for a few days. He slept, at least, so his odds of winning in a fight to escape are a little better than before.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that Impulse is only in a teeshirt and jeans, completely unarmed. He’s a little heavier, probably, but Tommy is taller, and given how Impulse acted when he first found Tommy, he’s not that much of a fighter.

Tommy surveys the room as he tries to make a plan. They seem to be in some sort of office, with big windows and a desk that’s been haphazardly pushed to one side so that there’s room for a person on either side of the bed. From where he’s laying, Tommy can’t tell how high they are.

_If there’s no-one else around, and I can kill Impulse quietly…_

His plan is immediately smashed to bits, however, when the door opens and a short-haired brunette with pink and blue flowers woven into her hair steps inside, closing it behind her. 

“Oh, good, you’re finally awake. I’m Stress.”

Stress wears a pink cardigan that trails behind her ever so slightly as she moves to the bedside table and starts putting potion bottles down. She, too, is unarmed, and Tommy briefly considers his chances against the two of them before he remembers one thing: he has no idea what’s considered a canon death here. Xisuma seemed kind, yes, but so had- well, everyone Tommy has ever trusted, and they turned their backs on him.

“Tommy?”

Impulse’s hand on Tommy’s shoulder shocks him out of his thoughts and he swings without thinking.

The punch connects, but barely, glancing off Impulse’s arm. Tommy immediately realizes what he’s done and is ready for Impulse to pull out a weapon, already mentally planning his escape, wondering if he’ll spawn in the badlands again or here.

Instead, Impulse says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Tommy blinks, then realizes what Impulse must be doing. He’s playing nice, waiting for Tommy to let down his guard before he gets him back, because the other option is that Impulse actually _is_ nice, which in Tommy’s opinion was a stupid thing to be to someone you’d just met.

“You ok, Tommy? You kinda spaced out for a moment.”

“I’m fine,” Tommy grunts. Whatever game these people are playing, he doesn’t want to be involved. He’s already making a plan that consists of running as far in the opposite direction as he can.

Stress and Impulse exchange a glance that Tommy can’t read, and Stress sighs. “Probably the concussion. Don’t be too hard on yourself if you act a little off for a bit while your brain heals.”

Tommy wants to snap at her, tell her he knows plenty about recovering from concussions, but Stress tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and it’s like someone punched him in the gut, because she reminds him of Nikki. And no matter how weird or stupidly nice (for real or no), he can’t bring himself to snap at someone who resembles her.

So he settles for trying to keep both Impulse and Stress in view as they debate about whether it’d be too risky to give him another health potion or if he should have it to help get his white blood count back up, whatever the hell that means, due to the infection in his wrist. 

Tommy almost wants one, just to take away the throbbing dull pain that just seems to be constantly there, but the memory of his previous nightmares keep him from speaking up. He can handle a little pain.

Eventually, Stress and Impulse make him drink a regen potion, not a health one. The numbing effect is lesser, but, according to Stress, the regeneration will help fight off the infection while he recovers from his other injuries. 

Which, apparently, are many. Somehow, with his wrist and face distracting him from everything else, Tommy had managed to sprain an ankle, bust open the knuckles on his right hand, and bruised just about every inch of his body without noticing.

The bruises are easy to fix, of course; a single potion makes them fade from ugly purple and blue to faint yellow, then a second, when the first wears off, wipes them away completely. The ankle will take a little longer, but Stress firmly tells Tommy that he’s not going anywhere until the infection clears up, so it doesn’t really matter.

Tommy’s split his knuckles open so many times he’s lost count, so he knows the drill: drip the potion on, wrap up the hand, and wait.

Stress re-dresses his face as well, saying, “It’s healing up quite nicely. No sign of infection and minimal scarring.”

“What about my eye?”

Stress bites her lip before replying, “You… _might_ get some of your sight back. There’s a lot of damage.”

Tommy holds back a retort about how, yeah, an axe colliding with your face tends to do that. “When can I leave?”`

“Oh, in a few days. Actually, Cub gave me one of his maps of the server so you could figure out where you wanted to stay,” Stress says, pulling it out of her inventory. “Everyone’s bases are marked.”

Tommy spreads it out on his lap. There’s a mushroom island in the middle, labeled _Shopping District,_ surrounded by a massive ocean, with a strait to the east, and then more land, like a watery doughnut that someone’s taken a bite out of. Bases are marked with a headshot of the player and their name.

Most people seemed to be on the coast, although there was a group, including Stress, who had settled more inland in a jungle. Tommy wonders if that means they’re working together, what the politics are like on this server- is it better for him to try and make allies, or set off on his own?

There is a huge badlands biome in the southeast corner with almost no-one in it, but Tommy prefers a space with trees and actual rain. It is bordered by forests, however, and the long distance would dissuade anyone from coming to see him, because Tommy can already tell these people like to visit their neighbours.

 _But,_ Tommy considers, _if I’m close to people, it’s easier to steal their shit._

So he tucks the location away and keeps looking. Even if he doesn’t end up there, it’s handy to have a faint idea of where he could run if things go south.

He’s hemming and hawing about a little desert in the southwest when the door opens and a man in the most ridiculous suit Tommy’s ever seen (and he caught Bad running around in a _duck onesie_ once) walks in with a bundle of fabrics.

“Hey, Scar,” Impulse says, standing to take the bundle. “Tommy’s just looking over the map.”

“Nice!” Scar hands over what Tommy now realizes must be clothes, then extends his right hand for Tommy to shake. “I’m Scar, Mayor of the Cowmercial District.”

Tommy pointedly holds out his _left_ hand, and Scar has either the stupidity or the weakness to look flustered as he switches. “Sorry.”

“Where'd you get these from, Scar?” 

Impulse holds up a pair of pants that would be too long for Technoblade, nevermind Tommy, and Scar replies, “Mumbo.”

“Did he give them over willingly?” Impulse asks with a smirk.

“Mmmmaaaaybe. He wasn’t home, so I just left him a note.”

Stress snorts. “Next remix: _Stealing Mumbo’s pants, ft. Impulse_ by Scar.”

“Doesn’t he have to get these tailored because of how darn tall he is?”

_Oh no._

Tommy can condemn stealing- who’s he kidding, he’s considering moving closer to people just so he can steal their shit- but only when people won’t miss it. What if this Mumbo person comes after him when he hears Scar gave him his pants? Tommy’s a sitting duck, after all, and a stranger, whereas Scar is clearly friends with Mumbo.

“They’re too long for me anyway,” Tommy interrupts, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “Shit, I don't think those’d fit my brother and he’s fucking, six-five or somethin’.”

Scar looks like he’s just said something horrendous, but before Tommy can think anything of it, Stress goes, “Don’t be rude, Tommy.”

“What’d I say?” Tommy asks, confused. He had been more polite than he usually was, after all.

“No swearing,” Stress elaborates. 

“What? You telling me I can’t speak how I like?”

Stress suddenly glowers at him, and Tommy is once again reminded of Nikki, but this time, it’s the _child-I-dare-you_ part instead of the gentle healer part. “Not if you cuss like that.”

Tommy nods dumbly and makes a mental note to never piss off Stress.

Xisuma shows up a little after Scar leaves, muttering something about asking Mumbo how tall he was exactly. 

“So, have you picked a place?”

Tommy points to where a desert, forest, and mountain meet on the coast of a little inlet, in the southwest corner of the map. It’s closer to the jungle group then he’d like, and only a little ways away from the admin himself, but Tommy’s starting to figure out that the majority of the players on this server are either nice (which is stupid, and means they won’t be on their guard) or possibly trying to play him (Impulse). Between the two, he’d rather be near the stupid, nice players. He doesn’t want their pity, of course, but stealing some extra supplies is different.

Xisuma hums for a moment, sounding slightly like the bee his armour resembles. “I’ll have to check, but I don’t think anyone’s doing anything there.”

“I’m _sure_ no-one’s doing anything,” Stress insisted. She picked up the map and looked closer at the spot Tommy had outlined. “I’ve flown over the area. Completely deserted.”

“Pog. When can I leave?” Tommy asks.

Stress laughs, though Tommy didn’t mean to be funny. “Oh, give it a few days, love. The potion’s clear up the infection quick enough.”

“Tommy.” Xisuma’s eyes, which are all Tommy can see, are serious as he asks, “Do you want me to ask the other Hermits to leave you alone while you get settled?” 

That implies that they’ll visit eventually, but it’s better than nothing, and Tommy’s willing to compromise. “Yeah, that’d nice.”


	3. Settling

Tommy gets his coat back the next day, delivered by Stress when she comes in in the morning.

“Cleo wanted to meet you, but I told her that you wanted a bit more time to settle in.”

Tommy nods and examines the leather. Whoever this Cleo is, she’s done a good job; if Tommy didn’t have all the rips memorized, he’d never be able to figure out where the patches were. Even the biggest tear, on the back, is only recognizable by the faint bloodstain. 

Tommy runs his fingers over the L’Manberg pin, now as shiny as the day Wilber first put it on, and forces back the tears.

When Stress is finished with her potions and runs out to grab something, Tommy presses his face into the worn lining and takes a deep breath.

Somehow, it still smells like Wilbur.

When Stress clears him after three more days, Xisuma personally escorts Tommy to the spot he’s chosen. 

They travel by Nether, walking on the roof since Tommy doesn’t know how to fly, and use a portal belonging to someone named Grian in a giant upside-down mansion that leads to another massive build.

“Don’t worry,” Xisuma assures him. “I asked him if we could use his portal when he’s not here- he’s actually working on something with Iskall at Iskall’s base.”

Tommy’s just blown away by the scale of the builds. He feels like an ant, looking up at the mansion from the ground. “It’s fucking huge!”

“You should see Bdub’s castle,” Xisuma says, turning towards the west. The sun is just starting to kiss the horizon. “Hmm. We’re still quite far. Tell you what, I’ll lend you an Elytra and some rockets, give you a quick lesson, and we’ll fly the rest of the way.”

Tommy does a quick mental debate- does he want to use rockets and have the noise bouncing around him and the smell of gunpowder and smoke in his nose, or does he want to risk pissing off the admin?

_ What would Technoblade tell me to do? _

Tommy can hear his brother in his head as clear as day.  _ “For once in your life, Tommy, can you pick the option that won’t get you killed?” _

“Alright.”

A stack of rockets, a spare Elytra from Xisuma’s ender chest, and a five-minute pep talk later, Tommy manages to shakily get into the air by jumping and setting off a firework underneath his feet. Xisuma waits until he’s steady and then follows.

It’s not absolutely horrible while they’re just gliding, and Tommy starts to relax slightly before Xisuma boosts.

Tommy flinches and keeps his eye on the horizon as he fights back the memories threatening to push him out of the sky by reminding himself that, as soon as he lands, he never has to do this again. It keeps him airborne, at least.

Still, by the time he lands by crashing into the inlet, his hands are trembling and he just about jumps out of his skin when Xisuma taps him on the shoulder.

“Are you ok, Tommy?” 

And oh, how Tommy loathes the pity he sees in Xisuma’s eyes and hears in his voice. He quickly returns the Elytra and what’s left of the rockets, then shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m fine.”

Thankfully, Xisuma doesn’t press, and once he’s taken back the items, he hands Tommy a pink shulker box.

_ “Holy shit,” _ Tommy breathes, holding it like it’s made of glass. A shulker box? How rich is this server, that Xisuma just gives one to him? Does he expect it back?

“It’s from Stress,” Xisuma explains. “It’s got some food, tools, a bed, and some potions in there.”

“Is- can I keep it?”

Truthfully, Tommy’s not even considering handing the box back. What he is thinking about, however, is if Xisuma would be willing to kill him to return it.

Xisuma blinks. “Yeah? It’s a gift.”

_ No way,  _ Tommy thinks. No-one gives out shulker boxes as gifts. “I meant the box.”

And more than the golden apples, more than all the casual conversations he’s overheard between the players he’s met so far, this is what tells Tommy that this is about as far from the SMP he can get, because Xisuma is looking at him like he just asked  _ is the moon square  _ or  _ is the Nether hot _ .

“Of course,” Xisuma says slowly.

Tommy is, once again, blown away. “But aren’t these pretty rare?”

Xisuma shrugs. “Scar sells them for about five diamonds, I think.”

Before Tommy can reply, Xisuma jumps as looks up at the quickly-darkening sky. “Sorry, Tommy, I gotta get going. Just send a message in the chat if you need anything, alright?”

Tommy nods and watches as Xisuma takes off. 

That first night, Tommy digs himself a little hole in the side of a hill and sifts through the shulker box. There’s two stacks of homemade cookies, half a stack of mutton, a full set of iron tools, a bed with red sheets, and four health and regen potions with an attached note to only take them if his wrist starts bothering him again.

Tommy puts the bed down in the corner, the shulker beside it, and eats the cookies for dinner before laying down. He falls asleep on top of the covers, with a full belly and a puzzled mind.

Tommy gets a solid five days of solitude, and he uses it to his full advantage. Just one the first day, he turns his hole into the beginning of a mine, builds a dirt hut on top of the hill, and starts a small wheat farm.

The loss of his right eye is felt the most when he almost dies to a creeper that is able to sneak up on him, leaving Tommy shaken with a huge hole by his dirt hut. He doesn’t bother to fix it, but he does start listening more carefully for footsteps, for groans, for the rattle of skeletons.

Tommy’s always been a quick learner when the other option is death.

There’s constant reminders that he’s not completely alone, too- another shulker appears by his door when he’s out looking for seeds. He digs out all the blocks around and under it, to make sure it’s not a trap, before he opens the box.

Inside are some building supplies, along with a note.

_ Welcome to Hermitcraft! -Grian _

Tommy puts the shulker inside his hut and goes back to mining. He’s accepted too many gifts already- he doesn’t want these ‘hermits’ to have any more pull on him than they already do.

He takes the box, though.

By the time the five days are up, and Xisuma stops in to check up on him, he’s received three more shulkers with random supplies- mostly from the players in the jungle nearby, including a red box from that Mumbo guy which turns out to be full of some basic redstone, and one from someone named iJevin who leaves a pair of Elytra and a couple stacks of rockets along with a note that Xisuma had asked him to make sure Tommy could get around the server quicker.

Tommy’s practicing his archery when Xisuma lands. He’s had to switch hands now that his dominant (right) eye doesn’t work, and his shots keep going wide. It’s frustrating, especially when his wrist starts to ache.

“Hey, Tommy.” Xisuma waits for him to loosen his arrow before walking up to him. “Are you getting along all right?”

“Yeah. Just fine.” Tommy nocks another arrow and fires again, missing the target by a good three blocks to the right. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“You know,” Xisuma says thoughtfully, as Tommy walks over to the target and starts to retrieve his arrows, “Maybe you should go talk to Iskall. Or Doc, but Iskall’s closest to you here. He’d probably have some advice on how to adjust to one eye.”

Tommy glares at the dirt in front of him. “I don’t need more fucking pity, thanks.”

“It’s not pity,” Xisuma insists.

“Yeah, it is. I’ve gotten four shulker boxes of random supplies and shit. No-one just gives stuff to strangers unless they’re pitying them or playing them.” Tommy stuffs his arrows into his inventory and walks up to face Xisuma, who just looks… sad?

“No-one’s pitying you, Tommy, and I promise no-one’s messing with you.” Xisuma sighs, then places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

Tommy tenses up immediately. It’s too close, Xisuma could put him in a chokehold without even trying, if Xisuma killed him would he let Tommy respawn-

His panic must show, because Xisuma pulls his hand away as if it was on fire. The two stare at each other for an uncomfortably long time, and Tommy’s halfway to pulling out his axe when Xisuma sighs again. Then, in a soft voice, he says, “We just want to make you feel welcome here.”

Tommy snaps, “Then stop fucking with me.” 

Xisuma looks like he’s about to say something, but pauses for a few seconds longer than Tommy likes. Finally, he just says, “Watch your language.”

Tommy watches as Xisuma jumps off the hill and flinches as the admin boosts away. Then, he turns back to his target and tries to focus on figuring out how to hit the damn thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, I cannot thank you enough. This is my first published fic on Ao3 and the response has been amazing. Thank you so, so much.


	4. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a shorter chapter today, folks- mainly because I ended up re-writing this thing three times, lol. Enjoy!

Tommy meets more of his neighbours the next day. 

He’s up on top of a cobblestone pillar, starting one of his towers, when he hears the sound of fireworks in the distance. 

Instantly, his axe is in his hand and Tommy scans the ground trying to figure out who’s getting shot at or who’s trying to shoot him. Then, he thinks to look up, and sees two players gliding in his direction.

Tommy jumps down, MLGs at the last possible second, and waits.

As the players get closer, he can see that only one of them is wearing an elytra- the other has giant red wings, with blue and yellow primaries.

_ They're like Phil,  _ Tommy realizes with a jolt.

The winged player lands perfectly, of course, and tucks his wings in. He's short and stocky, with blond hair and black eyes, and wearing a red jumper with gray pants.

The second player crashes into the inlet.

"Nice one, Mumbo!" His friend calls. Then, he turns to Tommy. "Hello! I'm Grian. I built-”

“The fucking gigantic house?” Tommy interrupts. “Yeah, I saw it.”

“Oh, right, X asked me to clear out so you guys could use my portal,” Grian says, as Mumbo drags himself to shore. “I left you a shulker to help get you started on your house or whatever you’re building. Did you get it?”

“Yeah.”  _ Does he want the shulker back?  _ Tommy wonders. Then,  _ Would I be able to fight him for it? _

Luckily, they’re interrupted before Tommy has to find out.

“Hello! I’m Mumbo, I- well, you probably haven’t seen my base yet, but it’s like, this big jungle temple, a little ways from Grian.” 

Tommy blinks. Mumbo is  _ tall.  _ As in, tilt your head back to meet his eyes tall. He’s a bit shorter than Technoblade, Tommy realizes, but where Techno’s height comes from his overall build, Mumbo is slim with long legs to rival Ranboo’s.

“Mumbo’s our resident redstone expert,” Grian explains, reaching up to clap his friend on the shoulder. “He’s made an entire living base! It’s absolutely crazy!”

“It’s quite simple-” Mumbo starts to say.

“He gave it a beating heart,” Grian tells Tommy. “And he has to feed it gapples every single day, or it starts shutting down things like his beacons and the lights and eats his diamonds.”

_ “Beacons?  _ As in, more than one?”

Mumbo nods. “I’ve got… four, I think? Plus some I use when mining, but everyone has those, so I don’t think they count.”

Tommy had wanted to figure out who was dangerous on this server.

Apparently, everyone.

“So,” Tommy says slowly, “Everyone on this server’s fought the Wither multiple times?”

“Oh, gosh no!” Mumbo says. “Most hermits just buy them from Impulse- he’s got a crazy efficient wither skeleton farm.”

Tommy’s so confused. “What?”

“Yeah, he sells them for like, a block of diamond. Some people even use them for lighting,” Grian says casually. 

Tommy decides to think about that later. “What do you want?”

To Tommy’s chagrin, Grian and Mumbo don’t even blink at his harsh tone.

“We were wondering if you’d like to go on a tour of the server,” Mumbo says. “It’s a bit confusing if you don’t know your way around.”

“I’m good,” Tommy replies. 

“Do you want some flying lessons then?” Grian asks. “X said he asked Jevin to drop off an elytra and rockets.”

"I said, I'm good!" Tommy snaps. He balls his hands into fists to hide the fact that they're trembling. 

"Tommy-" Mumbo starts.

Grian steps forward, wings spread slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck off!” Tommy’s hand is itching for his axe, but both Grian and Mumbo are wearing netherite. Tommy’s iron axe wouldn’t make a dent.

Then Grian grabs his shoulder.

Tommy feels sparks travel up his shoulder and the world takes on a purple tinge as he tears himself from Grian’s grip. When he looks at Grian’s hand, he sees purple magic fading.

“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” 

“Grian, what did you do?” Mumbo demands.

Grian backs away as Tommy gets out his axe. “Xisuma told me there was a magic block in his code-”

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

Tommy swings, and Grian barely manages to escape getting slashed. Mumbo draws his sword and looks like he’s about to attack, but Grian says, “Let’s go!”

They both throw themselves into the sky, Mumbo using rockets to blast away, and Tommy sends an arrow after them. His hands are shaking so much it misses the two by a mile.

Tommy spends the rest of the day mining, blocking the tunnel up behind him with stone to hide it. His thoughts are a cluttered mess of  _ what the fuck  _ and the firm resolution to never trust anyone on this server,  _ ever. _

He has the strangest dreams that night.

He’s standing on a mountain, looking down on an ocean that glows a pale blue in the light of a full moon. 

_ Come on, Tommy! _

Phil grabs him by the hand. He pulls back.

“I’ll fall,” he says shakily. “I can’t fly like you can.”

_ What are you talking about?  _ Phil asks, confused. Except, he’s not Phil anymore. Instead, he’s a giant owl, with their wing over Tommy’s shoulder. 

_ Have you forgotten my gift already, child? _

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tommy says.

The owl leans in closer, until Tommy can feel them breathing. After a moment, they say, furious,  _ Someone has stolen it from you. _

Tommy tries to back away. Whoever this owl is, a small part of Tommy’s mind recognizes that they’re powerful.

_ Don’t worry, little wing,  _ the owl says gently.

Is it just a trick of the light, or are their eyes glowing?

_ _____ _ _ gives freely. _

Tommy shoots upright in bed. It’s still dark outside, but moonlight is streaming through the window. His shoulders feel heavy.

Tommy reaches a hand to rub them, and meets feathers.


	5. Feathers

Tommy’s wings are huge. When he manages to spread them fully, in his little dirt hut, the tips brush the walls. The colouring reminds him of an owl that was in Phil’s book of birds, though he can’t remember which, with tan feathers tipped in dark brown on the underside and a solid brown speckled with tan and darker brown on top.

The weight of them tugs on his shoulders as Tommy paces, but it feels right, somehow. As if he had been off-balance and someone had come along and helped him put his feet where they needed to be.

Tommy doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the feeling that this is how things should have been, that things have been put right, because that means something was wrong in the first place.

_ Someone has stolen it from you,  _ the owl had said. Grian, too, had mentioned something called a magic block in Tommy’s code.

And Tommy can only think of one person who could have altered his code and gotten away with it on the SMP.

_ Dream. _

“You’re fucking insane,” Tommy mutters to himself. “Why the hell would Dream do something like that and then not reverse it when we…”

_ Dream’s my friend. Sure, we fought, but he said he was my friend. He visited me when no-one else did. _

_ Dream would have given me back my wings, when he thought I deserved them- _

Tommy catches sight of his reflection in the single window he’d actually bothered to put glass in and freezes.

He hasn't taken off the bandage that covered most of the right side of his face, mostly because he can’t be bothered. 

With shaky hands, Tommy peels them away.

It’s not as much of a mess as he thought it would be. It’s only one scar, really, looking like a stretched out  _ x  _ over a cloudy pale blue eye, it’s nothing compared to the countless burns that wind around Tubbo’s body like rope and almost took his best friend’s sight, but it’s still proof.

Dream had tried to kill him, to take his last life, and now Tommy doesn't know who to trust.

_ No. No, no, no, Dream is my friend. He's my friend. He said he was my friend. _

_ My friend tried to kill me. _

Tommy wakes up the next morning curled up in the corner, wings wrapped around him like a warm, feathery blanket and the collar of his shirt wet with tears. 

He stands and stretches, then tucks his wings in tight. Then, he has a thought and tries to pull off his shirt.

There's no resistance, and when Tommy checks the back, there aren't any rips in the fabric.

"What the fuck?"

Tommy puts his shirt back on, eats some bread, and grabs Wilbur's old coat. He needs to go talk to Grian.

He marches out the front door, axe in hand, and promptly falls into a hole.

"SHIT!"

Luckily, there's cobwebs at the bottom to break his fall, but Tommy's stuck.

It's clearly a man-made hole, three blocks square and nine blocks deep. How had Tommy not noticed someone digging a giant pit outside his door?

"Sorry about ruining your front yard!"

Tommy snaps his head up and sees Grian with a slightly guilty expression on his face, leaning over the hole. "What the hell, man!"

"In our defense," Mumbo says, joining Grian at the edge, "You did try to slash us last time."

"CAUSE YOU DID SOME SORT OF MAGIC BULLSHIT AND NOW I'VE GOT WINGS! IS THIS SOME SORT OF HAZING OR SOME SHIT? AM I GONNA TURN INTO A FUCKING BIRD IN THREE DAYS?"

"Oh, pants," Mumbo mutters.

"WHY DON'T YOU TWO COME DOWN HERE AND FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN? TWO SHITS IN NETHERITE GEAR AND YOU STILL RIG A TRAP?"

_ Go the fuck away! _

Tommy pulls out his bow, and Grian and Mumbo quickly duck down.

"FUCKING COWARDS! MADE A BIG FUCKING HOLE AND NOW YOU'RE TOO SCARED TO DEAL WITH WHAT YOU CAUGHT!"

"What is going on here?"

Xisuma lands on the edge of the hole and looks down at Tommy, who has an arrow nocked and ready to fly, and then presumably at Mumbo and Grian. "Why is there a big hole in front of Tommy's house?"

"CAUSE THESE FUCKERS ARE TRYING TO KILL ME!"

"No! No no no, that's not what's happening at all!" Grian says quickly. "This is a big misunderstanding."

"Gee, sure. There's a big fucking hole with cobwebs and you two have full netherite on. WHAT THE FUCK WAS I SUPPOSED TO THINK?" Tommy yells.

Xisuma sighs, then says, “Can I talk to you two for a moment?”

Tommy hears footsteps as the three walk away, and quickly starts whacking at the cobwebs sticking to his feet. For all his smack talk, he knows that if they actually do want to fight, he doesn’t stand a chance.

He manages to get free and is just reaching for some dirt to pillar with when Xisuma, Grian, and Mumbo appear on the edge again. 

“Oh, good, you got rid of the cobwebs.” Xisuma looks down at Tommy, hands empty and armour unequipped. “Just pillar up here, and we’ll have a quick chat.”

Mumbo and Grian have unequipped their armour as well, and the four of them hold council on the part of Tommy’s front yard the two  _ hadn’t _ dug a hole in.

“Again, we’re really sorry for, uh, trapping you and not making it clear we just wanted to talk,” Grian says sheepishly.

“And we’ll fill in the hole!” Mumbo adds quickly. “Don’t want you falling and hitting your head!”

Tommy glares at them, but keeps his hands empty. He doesn’t know what they want, and he’s painfully aware of how the odds are stacked against him if this should get bloody.

“Alright, now that we’re all on the same level, I owe you an apology too, Tommy,” Xisuma says, and Tommy’s shook when he realizes, as far as he can tell, the admin means it. “There was a magic block in your code that I couldn’t touch, so I had to ask Grian to deal with it.”

“Yeah, it was like, someone had tried to completely override the fact that you’re not human and erase any memories associated with that,” Grian explains. “But, obviously, you can’t just change someone’s species without leaving something behind. It’s like using mossy cobble to cover up a hole, you see- unless you know what to look for, you get the feeling that something is off, but you can’t understand why.”

Tommy glances at Mumbo, and the redstoner shrugs. “I’m honestly just here because Iskall was busy.”

“So, basically,” Tommy says, “I had wings, then someone overwrote the code and made me forget I had wings, and now I have wings again.”

Grian and Xisuma nod.

“It’s possible you might have some muscle memory left as well,” Grian adds, grinning. “Might not even need any flying lessons.”

Tommy lets out a short laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “It took me five minutes to get them unfolded.”

“Well,” Grian says slowly, “I can give you a quick lesson, if you want.”

Tommy looks up at the sky and remembers how it felt, gliding with an elytra when Xisuma loaned him one. “Do we have to use the rockets?”

“Nope! I sometimes use them when I need to glide through tunnels and stuff, but we- well, Avians, that’s what we call ourselves,” Grian explains, “Can fly even faster than a player with an elytra.”

“He’s banned from any flying minigames,” Xisuma says, but there’s no bitterness in his tone. “Doesn’t stop him from building them, though.”

Tommy lets a small grin form, just for a second, for the first time since he’s joined Hermitcraft. “Let’s do some fucking flying.”

Xisuma leaves before they actually start, claiming that he needs to check on his bees. Tommy keeps his face flat as the admin boosts away, but he can’t stop the small flinch.

Grian has him kneel in a superhero pose, with one knee and both hands on the ground.

“Alright, so, what you want to do is lift your wings up,” Grian says, demonstrating, “and then, when you jump into the air, push them down as fast and as hard as you can.”

Tommy watches Grian a few times first, and it’s awesome; he seems to launch himself upwards like a rocket with no effort at all. 

When Tommy tries it, he only manages to get about five feet into the air before he crashes back down to earth.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You got airborne,” Grian reassures him. Mumbo, who stuck around to watch, nods from where he’s sitting. 

Tommy makes three more attempts before he manages to get airborne and stay there, flapping awkwardly as Grian takes off to join him. Mumbo stays on the ground.

“You’re a natural!” Grian exclaims, grinning. “Your form was great, but you were slightly off-balance. Probably you were a lot smaller when you first learned to fly.”

Tommy feels a small ping in his chest and he thinks of Phil, with his giant raven-black wings. Had Phil done this with him? Had he taken Tommy out to the clearing by the house they’d all lived in and showed him how to throw off the chains of gravity as though they were made of paper?

Tommy pushes the thought aside and focuses, because it’s Grian who’s teaching him now, and he needs to keep an eye on him.

Grian stays on Tommy’s left side, where he can see him, and teaches him how to dive and turn and fly so far into the sky they can’t see the ground, and then further.

“Normal players can’t actually get up this high,” Grian says brightly. “The’s not a lot of air up here.”

Tommy looks at the moon, creeping over the horizon and turning the sky gold and orange. “Has it been all day already?”

“Holy mushroom, so it has!” Grian exclaims.

Mumbo and Grian head for their own bases for the night, promising to return the next day and take Tommy to the Skydive minigame that Grian built in the shopping district. Tommy himself eats his dinner on the wall of his half-finished tower before heading to bed.

For a split second, before he closed the door behind him, Tommy could have sworn he saw the silhouette of an owl against the full moon.


	6. History Lesson

Tommy’s out of bed well before Mumbo and Grian show up- the moon’s still in the sky when he throws himself into the air and soars upwards until nothing can reach him.

He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, only that he woke up in a cold sweat with his compass chain almost strangling him. He only got a few hour’s sleep, but he’ll be fine. 

Tommy’s used to being tired.

Without Grian talking, without any noise to distract him, Tommy starts to notice a few things.

First, his night vision in his good eye is a lot better. He’s able to see everything on the ground, even the skeletons in the shadows.

Secondly, he’s almost silent when he flies, which is odd. He can remember being able to hear Phil coming from a mile away, and Grian was plenty loud the day before, but Tommy can barely hear the sound of his own wings. He’s like a ghost.

Tommy quickly shoves that thought down. He’s  _ not  _ a ghost. He’s nothing like the shell of what used to be his brother, wandering around and handing out crystals and being more of a painful reminder than help. He’s alive, at least.

By the time Grian and Mumbo come into view, when the sun's been in the sky for a good hour, Tommy’s wings are sore but his head is clear.

“Goooood mornin’!” Grian greets him, doing a cartwheel in midair while Mumbo tries to land. “You’re up early.”

Tommy shrugs. “It’s past six. I’ve been up for a while.”

“Well, that makes you more motivated than about half the hermits, including Scar. I went to build a chicken cannon in his base and he was still asleep at 2 pm!” Grian says cheerfully.

For one traitorous moment, Tommy’s mind turns to Tubbo, who would wake up well before the sun to get a start on his paperwork and drag Tommy out of bed to do the same, and his hand strays upwards towards his compass.

Then he tastes the familiar bitter flavour of betrayal in the back of his throat and forces his hand into his pocket. 

“Sounds like he’s a bit of a shit mayor,” Tommy jokes half-heartedly.

“Oh, no no no no,” Grian says quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that! We hermits actually have very different hours- I can’t even count the number of times I’ve had to drag Mumbo and Iskall away from a project. I’m pretty sure Scar does a lot of his mayoral duties at night, when it’s not safe to build because of the phantoms.”

“Are you two coming down here or are we going to head off?” Mumbo calls up from the ground.

“Yeah, yeah, alright! We’ll use my portal and head for the hub!” Grian yells back.

Tommy, to his credit, only flinches a little when Mumbo takes off. 

They get onto the Nether roof and fly in a row, with Tommy on the far right and Grian in between him and Mumbo.

Grian hadn’t been kidding when he said they were faster than elytra; Tommy keeps having to pull back whenever he gets too far and let the other two catch up, which is driving him crazy.

“You’ll get a hang of slow flying,” Grian assures him. “It took me about three months to figure out how to do it.”

“Or, or, hear me out,” Mumbo says cheekily, “You could show him how to do it.”

Tommy glances at Grian, who shrugs and then says, “Or we could do that.”

Grian shows Tommy how to spread his primary feathers all the way out and straighten his body, which makes him glide similar to a player with an elytra, and how to tell when to flap to gain speed. It takes a few tries, of course, and Tommy almost has an unfortunate meeting with the bedrock floor before he manages to get even slightly decent at it.

“Jesus fucking christ, that was close.”

“Um, Tommy?” 

“Yeah?” Tommy turns to look at Mumbo and almost crashes into Grian, who had moved to his right without Tommy noticing. 

“This is awkward, but, ah, we… we don’t really curse on Hermitcraft. At all, really. So, could you maybe tone down the language a bit, please?”

Mumbo’s tone is apologetic, but Tommy’s not really listening to him. He’s hyper-aware of the fact that Grian’s on his right and he can barely see the other Avian. It would be so easy for Grian to pull out an axe or a sword and stab him in the back-

Tommy shoots upwards and moves over, so he can see both of them. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

It’s raining in the Shopping District, which for some reason makes Grian grin.

“Rings of Death is so much more fun when it’s wet!” he cheers, looking up from the road near the Shopping District portal.

“Rings of  _ what?” _

For a split second, Tommy’s thinking he’s walked into a trap, until Mumbo rolls his eyes. “It’s a bunch of glass rings. Grian has a tendency to exaggerate.”

“This entire server has a tendency to exaggerate, from what I’ve seen,” Tommy mutters.

Grian laughs. “Fair enough, I guess. Come on, Let’s get some flying in case this turns into a thunderstorm.”

They take off and head south, coming to a large plain that’s half grass, half mycelium, with a big dirt wall on the back end.  _ TURF WAR  _ is spelled out in white concrete on the wall, and the plain is covered with minigames.

Grian leads them upwards and into a plane, landing on the wing and walking inside. Tommy and Mumbo follow him out of the rain.

“What’s all this from?” Tommy asks, folding his wings in tight. The airplane’s a bit cramped, and he’d rather not end up exiled or something because he shoved Mumbo out of a plane.

“Oh, we had a war that just ended a couple weeks ago. You see, when Scar became mayor he promised to remove all the mycelium, so I- I mean,  _ the mother spore  _ formed the Mycelium Resistance, tried to put all the mycelium back, and started the Turf War that ended up getting all of us put in prison-”

“And you’re still friends with him? You didn’t end up in big trouble?” Tommy asks, disgusted and, though he’d never admit it, afraid. Scar, the man in the tweed pants and purple suit, made a prison? And Grian started a war? “Or are we sneaking into the Shopping District? Are you allowed to be here, man?”

Tommy starts to edge towards the open door, breathing hard. Should he be ready to run? Would he be in trouble too?

“What? No! Why would you think-” Grian cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, and says calmly, “It was a prank war, Tommy. Everyone involved knew it was a prank, Scar and I were talking to each other the whole time, and no-one was ever in actual danger, aside from maybe a few lost items when we rigged a decoy chest to explode after we stole- bought the Diamond Throne.”

“Grian and I were even on opposite sides,” Mumbo explains. “Mainly because the Resistance was  _ absolutely horrible  _ at building vaults. I mean, you’ve got the Diamond Throne on your hands and your vault is a layer of iron blocks? Come on. Honestly Grian, it’s like you wanted me to join the HEP!”

Tommy gets this overwhelming sense of relief and all the tension leaves his body at once. “It- it wasn’t a real war, you mean? You guys just pulled pranks?”

“Yeah, basically. We settled it with a minigame tournament, and so Rings Of Death was my contribution,” Grian says. 

“Who won?” Tommy’s genuinely intrigued now. A prank war sounds right up his alley, especially if you don’t end up exiled if you lose.

“The Resistance, but we all agreed that mycelium is ugly and so Scar’s working on undoing all our undoing of his hard work,” Grian explains. “It was about the principle more than anything.”

Tommy’s throat closes up and he suddenly thinks,  _ It’s not fair. _

Tommy damaged George’s house, which took him ten minutes to fix, and Dream demanded his exile and isolation, and here, wrecking someone’s terraforming in an actual war, stealing a diamond throne, could be settled with a few games and everyone went back to being friends. Hell, from the sounds of it, they never stopped being friends.

“What side was Xisuma on?” Tommy blurts out. Maybe that’s why the Resistance got off before the end of the war- everyone knows you don’t piss off your admin.

Mumbo and Grian look at him, surprised.

“X was a neutral party, wasn’t he?” Mumbo asks Grian.

“Yeah, yeah, he was. We got him to referee the minigames,” Grian says.

“Right, cause I was about to say, I don’t remember him joining HEP, but maybe he snuck in.”

And this conversation is blowing Tommy’s mind, because they’re talking about the player who controls everything like he’s just… a player.

Tommy shoves the issue to the back of his mind to ponder and says, “Aren’t we supposed to be flying?”

Grian goes first, just to demonstrate, and Tommy watches as he weaves his way in and out of the glass rings without even scraping the sides, all the way down to bedrock. Then, when Grian gets back up, it’s his turn.

He shoves his few items into the chest, makes sure his spawn point is set to the bed inside the airplane, and stands at the edge.

“Take it slow,” Grian advises. “Just worry about making it to the bottom while not crashing, because I’d rather not be the one who makes the new kid go  _ splat  _ for the first time.”

“If I do have to respawn, it’s not a canon death, right?” Tommy asks. He’s assuming not, but you can never be too careful.

“Uh… no. Just respawn and try again.” Grian sounds confused, but he doesn’t ask Tommy to clarify.

“Alright, let’s do this then.”

With that, Tommy jumps out of the plane.

He focuses on the bigger rings and starts to weave through them as he watched Grian do not five minutes ago, and quickly finds that there’s a reason one-eyed birds don’t do so well. 

He hits his right wing on the side of three different rings, and finally ends up dying from colliding with one of the smaller rings halfway down when a fourth hit sends him spinning.

He respawns in the plane and Grian helps him up.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Grian frets. “We couldn’t see you too clearly, but it looked like you kept hitting things.”

“I can’t see shit out of my right eye, what did you expect?” Tommy snaps. His head and wing are still sore, even after respawning, and that coupled with his utter failure of a first run is pissing him off. “Fuck, I didn’t even see the last one.”

Mumbo and Grian look at each other, Mumbo with a question and Grian with an answer.

“We’ll have to talk to Stress,” Grian says.

“Yeah, probably, but I could get Iskall on board and start on the blueprints at least,” Mumbo insists.

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Tommy demands, grabbing his items.

“Well, as you just found out, peripheral vision is kind of important when it comes to flying,” Mumbo begins. “So, if you’d like, me and Iskall could probably make you a new eye.”

Tommy stares at him. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Nope! Doc and Iskall both have bionic eyes. Amazing pieces of tech, actually, blew me away when I first saw them-”

“We need to talk to Stress first,” Grian repeated firmly. “And maybe Cleo.”

“Well then let’s go!” Mumbo says impatiently, and before Tommy and Grian can say anything, he’s jumped out of the plane and is gliding away.

“He gets really excited about tech,” Tommy says dryly.

Grian laughs, and the two follow Mumbo out into the rain.


	7. History Lesson (Pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little disclaimer- I am not, in any way, shape, or form, a doctor. I am making everything up based around my understanding of basic biology.

For once, the universe doesn’t have it out for Tommy, because Stress and Cleo are actually both at Cleo’s base, and before too long, he’s out of the cold and the wet.

“Nice to meet you in person, Tommy,” Cleo greets him, welcoming them inside. The zombie hybrid has bright red hair, braided with green flowers that match her eyes. “I hope the coat’s holding up.”

“It’s fine. Thanks for fixing it and not just tossing it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Couldn’t let you walk around with that big hole in the back.”

Cleo serves them up big mugs of tea and Grian shows Tommy how to sit with his back to the fireplace, wings spread ever so slightly to help dry them out.

“Trust me, there is absolutely  _ nothing  _ worse than damp feathers,” Grian says, shuddering at the thought.

“How about wet bird smell in your base?” Cleo asks, and for a second Tommy thinks she’s annoyed, but then he sees the cheeky smile and relaxes. “I remember visiting your starter base last season- wow, that was a stinky ship.”

“And I remember trying to say it was the chickens,” Grian chuckles.

Tommy frowns. He’s missing something here, and he’s starting to think Dream may have taken a few more memories than strictly necessary. “Were you keeping your wings a secret or something?”

The tension in the room suddenly skyrockets. He’s said the wrong thing, obviously, but it’s too late to take it back.

The four hermits look at each other, and Grian says slowly, “What do you remember about being an Avian, Tommy?”

“Um, nothing. I mean, I know Ph- my dad,” He corrects himself, and wonders when the words became like poison on his tongue, before continuing, “is one, and I remember him carrying me around when I was little, but that’s about it.”

“Well,” Grian begins, shifting a little, “Avians aren’t exactly… treated very nicely by the majority of players. The only one who shows his wings in public is Philza Minecraft, probably because he knows everyone’s too scared of Technoblade to actually do anything to him, or they respect him as a Hardcore player.”

“Hang on,” Cleo interrupts, frowning. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

“Someone tried to overwrite Tommy’s code and ended up taking away his wings and all his memories of ever being an Avian,” Mumbo explains quickly. “And quite possibly ended up removing all Avian knowledge too.”

“But why wouldn’t my dad talk to me about it? Why didn’t Dre- the admin on my previous server take away my dad’s wings too?” Tommy wants to start pacing, but Cleo’s living room is already cramped. 

“Wait, what? Your  _ admin  _ re-wrote your code? They of all players should know that there’s a very high possibility of something like that going catastrophically wrong! As in, risk of permanent brain damage wrong!” Cleo exclaims. Stress, sitting beside her, nods.

Grian just sighs. “It takes a lot of energy and time to re-write someone’s code to that degree, and even more to try and wipe multiple people’s minds. If your dad joined the server after you, it could be that your admin decided to skip the rewrite and simply wipe his memory instead.”

“Which is  _ still  _ really, really dangerous,” Cleo adds. “You could have ended up with no short-term memory or comatose!”

Tommy’s blood runs cold, and he pulls Wilbur’s coat tighter and stares into his tea. “So, I can’t even trust my own memories?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Grian quickly assures him. “The wipe was only for your memories of you being an Avian- and since that probably happened when you joined your previous server, your memory of anything after that should be fine.”

Tommy nods.

There’s a long moment of uncomfortable silence, with Tommy staring at his distorted reflection in his mug and biting the inside of his cheek. Then, Cleo clears her throat.

“You said you wanted my help with a project, Mumbo?”

Tommy looks up and sees Mumbo nod.

“We want to make Tommy a bionic eye to replace his blind one,” Mumbo explains, “and, well, I know you have some experience in designing them, so we figured we’d see if you were interested.”

“I’d love to!” Cleo grins and retrieves a notebook from her pocket. “Are we going to call in Iskall or Doc?”

“I was going to talk to Iskall, but if you think we should have Doc’s input, we can call him,” Mumbo replies.

“And I assume you wanted to talk to me about the medical side of things?” Stress asks, resting her chin on her hand as the two of them start to talk about artificial pupils and minicomputers.

“Yeah, like, would it be possible, or is there too much damage?” Grian says, nodding.

Stress shrugs. “I’m no expert, but I think the optic nerve is ok. Tommy’s mainly blind because whatever hit him cut right through the retina, let a whole bunch of blood into the center of the eye where there should really only be water, and then the hole scarred over. Bit more complicated than that, of course, but that’s the gist of it.”

“Hey Tommy,” Mumbo asks, “What colour do you want your eye to be?”

Tommy ends up spending the night at Cleo’s when the rain turns into a thunderstorm, curled up with his back to the wall. He’s the last to fall asleep, as the fire burns low and everyone else is breathing slowly.

“Hello, Tommy.”

He’s back in Logestshire, staring up at Dream from the ground. He tries to stand and the dirt creeps up his body like cobwebs, holding him down.

No, wait. It’s L’Manberg, and it’s Wilbur, Wilbur with that crazed look in his eyes and TnT in his hands and a sword through his chest. Blood dribbles from his lips as he says, “Let’s be the bad guys!”

“Wilbur, please-”

But he’s too late, Tommy’s always too late, and Wilbur presses the button.

Fireworks and explosions and withers and-

_ Tubbo. _

His best friend is looking up at him with an expression of utter betrayal, a hole in his torso.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me!”

Tommy tries to reach him, really, he does, tries to reach him and apologise and tell him how terribly sorry he is, but the ground sucks his feet in and holds onto them like glue and his toun

Then he’s back in Logestshire, but he’s all alone. Something tells him something’s not right, though, and he yells out a name that he forgets as soon as it leaves his lips.

Tommy turns the corner and sees Dream, standing over a body with a bloody axe in hand. Dream looks up as he approaches.

“I warned you, Tommy.”

Tommy turns and runs, because Dream’s standing over  _ his  _ body and Dream’s chasing him and his feet won’t move like they should and he can hear his own breath in his ears and Dream’s getting closer and closer and he can hear the axe whistling through the air-

Tommy starts awake with a shout before he claps his hands over his mouth. He’s shaking like a leaf and breathing hard, but he quickly glances around to make sure he didn’t wake anyone up.

Mumbo, Grian, and Stress are still asleep, but Cleo’s beside him, green eyes glowing slightly. 

Tommy shrinks back, already looking for an escape.

“You ok, Tommy?” Cleo asks quietly. 

He’s still trembling, and doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods. He takes a few deep breaths and whispers, “S-sorry for waking you up-”

“You didn’t, don’t worry,” Cleo assures him. “The storm’s over, and I was just heading down to the lab to test something and saw you shaking and muttering, so I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“I’m fine,” Tommy says, fighting to keep his voice flat.

Cleo hesitates, doubtful, and Tommy’s almost ready to try running before she sighs.

“If you say so. Hey, let me show you the lab. It’s pretty cool, and I can get your measurements,” Cleo offers. “Or do you want to go back to sleep?”

Tommy’s tired, but he doesn’t think he can handle any more nightmares tonight. “I guess I could take a look.”

Cleo’s lab  _ is  _ pretty cool. It’s beneath the hermit zoo she’s working on, and is easily twice or three times the size of Techno’s vault that he built for the revolution. Instead of armour and weapons and blackstone, though, it’s brightly lit with sea lanterns set into gray concrete and filled with various machines that look extremely complicated.

Cleo leads Tommy over to what looks like something from an optometrist’s and has him look into it.

“It’ll take a picture of your eyes and then give me an x-ray as well, and from there I can run it through my computer and get a 3D model,” Cleo explains, and there’s a brief flash that leaves Tommy blind for a brief second. 

“Aw, fuck.” Tommy rubs his eyes and jumps when Cleo grabs him by the shoulder.

“Sorry! I forgot to warn you about that.”

“No, no, I just- I didn’t see you,” Tommy tries to explain.

Cleo smiles and ruffles his hair like he’s a little kid, even though he’s taller than her, and for some reason it helps with some of the tension in Tommy’s shoulders. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

She sits him down in a chair on her left and brings up the scans, pointing out things that go way over Tommy’s head and occasionally jotting something down on a notepad. 

Slowly, Tommy’s eyes start to drift closed. He tries to stay awake, because it’d be rude to fall asleep when Cleo’s taking the time to explain things to him, and Cleo strikes him as someone you don’t want to be rude lest you wake up in a test tube.

He’s almost asleep when Cleo gets up from her chair. He quickly opens his eyes, ready to insist he’s fully awake, but Cleo just throws a blanket over him before sitting back down.

“Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the microcomputer…” 

Tommy’s eyes fall closed despite his effort to keep them open, and his last coherent thought is,  _ Oh. She tricked me. _


	8. Midnight Talks

Cleo wakes Tommy up when she heads back into the house for breakfast. It’s more like lunch, really, because the sun’s almost at its highest point in the sky as they emerge from the underground lab.

Grian and Mumbo are awake as well, and Stress has apparently been replaced with a brown-haired man in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. His left eye is metal and… diamond, it looks like, and he has a short, unruly beard.

“Hallo! I’m Iskall. You’re Tommy, right?” Iskall shakes Tommy’s hand enthusiastically and grins. “I’m in the jungle too, kind of in-between Mumbo and Grian. You should come see the Omega Tree sometime.”

Tommy shrugs. “It sounds like there’s a lot of places I need to see.”

“That’s the spirit,” Iskall chuckles. “Now, you guys said you wanted my opinion on something?”

“We’re making an eye for Tommy,” Cleo explains. She gestures for Tommy to sit, and when he does, she hands him some golden carrots. 

“Have you ever been to MCC?” Iskall asks. “You look kinda familiar.”

“Yeah, a couple of times,” Tommy says with his mouth full. 

“That must be it!” Grian exclaims. “I was thinking the same thing, but honestly, the scars were throwing me off.”

“GRIAN!” Mumbo looks scandalized. “You can’t just say something like that-”

“It’s fine. I think they make me look badass. Help me get _all_ the women.” Tommy grins and stuffs another carrot in his mouth.

Iskall bursts out laughing, and Tommy could have sworn he heard Cleo mutter something along the lines of, “Oh my god.”

“Chicks _love_ me man. They think I’m poggers.”

“Do you have any girlfriends back home, then?” Iskall asks.

“No, no, because that wouldn’t be fair to all the other women who want to date me. If- if I’m going to date anyone, I want to be able to take it seriously,” Tommy replies.

Grian’s laughing so hard he can barely sit up, and Mumbo just looks defeated.

“Don’t encourage him, Iskall,” Mumbo sighs.

“I was just asking,” Iskall says innocently. He grins at Tommy. “Getting to know our new friend, that’s all.”

_Friend._

Tommy freezes, and the moment shatters like ice on a summer’s day. Oh god, what has Tommy been doing? Why is he laughing and joking with these people he knows basically nothing about? Why was he stupid enough to follow Cleo, alone at night? He’s on his last cannon life, for fuck’s sake. That could have gone so, so incredibly wrong. 

_But it didn’t,_ a little voice in the back of Tommy’s mind whispers. _Maybe these people are just nice for the sake of it._

No, that doesn’t make sense. It just doesn’t make sense, this has to be a trap, they’re just being nice so that once he trusts them they can blow up his things and kill him and-

“Tommy?”

Tommy flinches so hard his golden carrots snap in his hand. Grian’s in front of him- _when had he gotten there?_ \- and his hands are hovering over Tommy’s shoulders as if he’s not sure he should touch him.

“You ok, Tommy? You zoned out for a minute there,” Grian says calmly.

Tommy forces his face into stony blankness and says, “I’m fine.”

_Leave me alone,_ he tries to say with his eyes. _I don’t need your help._

He can’t tell if Grian gets the message, but the man backs off. There’s an awkward moment of silence before Mumbo clears his throat.

“Um, anyway, so, we wanted to get your opinion on making a bionic eye for Tommy,” Mumbo tells Iskall. “If you’re busy, we can call Doc instead-”

“Don’t worry about it. What do you want my help with?”

The rest of the visit is quiet and awkward, and Tommy’s on edge the whole time. When Cleo finally tells him he’s free to go, he’s out the door and into the clear blue sky in seconds.

He soars up, and up, and up, until he reaches that special zone where the air is so thin only Grian would be able to follow him, and then heads west towards his own base.

The wind is cold and sharp, and Tommy ends up buttoning up Wilbur’s old coat instead of leaving it open like he usually does and sticking his hands into the pockets. Still, it’s nice. There’s nothing for him to run into, and for once, Tommy’s in complete control. 

He messes around for a while, practicing dives and turns and rolls. Eventually, though, he has to go low enough to make sure he doesn’t accidentally miss his base.

On the edge of the jungle, there’s a build that looks like something out of a Star Wars movie, and the Hermit working on it waves as Tommy flies by. From there, Tommy finds Grian’s mansion and soon he’s landing by his unfinished tower.

He goes to grab his cobble and pauses for a moment outside the entrance to his mine. For a moment, he considers going down to try and get some better gear.

_Tools in the pit, Tommy._

There’s no point. Everyone else has full netherite, and they’ll find a reason to take his stuff sooner or later.

He’s fine with iron, anyway.

Tommy manages to get the T-Tower, as he’s started calling it, up to an even 80 blocks tall before he has to call it a night. His good night vision doesn’t stop mobs from spawning, after all, and he’d rather not get shot in the head.

His dreams, once again, are strange, but they’re not his usual nightmares. Instead, he’s trapped in a fog that chills him to the bone.

_Tommy?_

“Ghostbur?”

Tommy looks around for his brother, but the fog’s so thick he can’t even see what kind of block he’s standing on.

_Tommy, where are you?_

“I’m- I’m right here, Wil,” Tommy stutters.

_Tommy, Tommy, please, I can’t- people are saying you’re dead, Tommy._

Wilbur sounds like he’s been crying. _They’re saying you’re dead, Tommy, but I can’t- I can’t see you._

“I’m not dead, Ghostbur,” Tommy says, but the rambling spirit that his brother’s become keeps talking as if he hasn’t replied.

_Do you hate me that much, Tommy? Was I that bad of a person that you- you don’t want to be a ghost with me?_

“I’m not dead!”

_It’s not that bad being a ghost, Tommy, really, and Phil and Techno really miss you. And if you’re a ghost, you don’t have to worry about fighting Dream! You can go into L’Manberg whenever you want, Tommy! You can be with Tubbo again!_

Tommy’s hand instinctively goes to the compass around his neck, and he thinks of how he felt when Wilbur came back, this hollow shell of the person that he loved more than anything, a painful reminder of a man who probably really died long before the 16th, and imagines doing that to Tubbo.

“I don’t care about Tubbo,” he says out loud. “He betrayed me. He exiled me. He never even came to visit.”

_He’s your Tubbo,_ Wilbur insists, and when Tommy turns toward the sound of his voice, he catches a glimpse of yellow. _You’re like brothers, the two of you._

“We _were_ like brothers,” Tommy snaps, venom dripping from his words, “But he chose L’Manberg over me.”

Wilbur’s silent for a long, long time, and Tommy almost thinks he’s gone before his next words float out of the fog.

_But you made him president, Tommy. Isn’t that what a leader’s supposed to do? Protect his country?_

“I- yeah, I guess, but I was part of that country!” Tommy wheels around, trying to figure out where the ghost is. 

_That’s true, that’s true,_ the ghost of Wilbur says. Then, _Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me, Tommy?_

“I’M NOT DEAD!”

_Of course you’re dead, Tommy,_ Wilbur says soothingly. _Dream brought your body back to L’Manberg after you jumped, and we buried you under the L’Mantree. Isn’t he such a good friend?_

Tommy felt like someone had punched him in the gut. What if this isn’t a dream? What if…

Quickly, he examines Wilbur’s old coat. It’s clean and repaired, and the shirt he’s wearing is one of Impulse’s that’s been dyed to resemble his usual red-and-white one.

So, Hermitcraft was definitely real. This must just be a dream, then, or maybe there’s more magic bullshit going on.

Tommy almost tells Wilbur the truth, but his brother still thinks Dream’s on their side, and Tommy’s not sure he wants Dream to know he’s alive.

“I’m not dead,” Tommy insists. “I’m just… somewhere else.”

_You should come back with me, Tommy. Tubbo really misses you. Technoblade too, you know. He doesn’t know I saw him, but he was crying after Phil told him you were dead._

Tommy’s heart twists in his chest. “And… Phil?”

_He’s waiting for you to come back, like I did, but when I said I was going to try and get you to come back, he told me, “If he wants to, let him rest.”_

Of course, Phil would say that. He’s already got one dead son hanging around, after all, and Tommy always suspected Techno was their father’s favourite.

Still, it hurts, and now that Tommy knows he was the one out of the three of them who inherited his father’s gift, it feels like a knife to the chest.

“I don’t think I can come back,” Tommy says instead. “I don’t want to be a ghost.”

_It’s not that bad,_ Wilbur tells him for the second time. _Plus, if you come back, maybe we can revive you._

“I’m not dead. I swear I’m not dead, and I didn’t-” Tommy cuts himself off. 

_You didn’t what, Tommy?_

“I can’t tell you, Ghostbur. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

_We’re already dead, Tommy. Nothing can hurt us anymore,_ Wilbur reminds him, in that echoey voice that makes Tommy’s stomach tie itself up in knots.

“But we still have alive people that we care about! Don’t you care about Phil, and Techno, and everyone else who can still get hurt?” Tommy asks.

_Of course I do, Tommy! Tell you what, whatever you say, I promise to keep it a secret, just between the two of us! A ghost pact!_

“I’m not dead,” Tommy protests for the umpteenth time, then sighs. “I don’t know how Dream came up with a body, but it wasn’t mine.”

_But Dream’s your friend, Tommy! Why would he lie about something like that?_ Wilbur sounds distraught, and Tommy’s already regretting his decision. 

So, he makes up a little lie himself.

“I fell into lava and woke up somewhere else,” he says, keeping the details as vague as possible. 

_Oh, so Dream was making sure we had something to bury! That was nice of him._

“Sure, let’s go with that.” Tommy feels sick. “Hey, Ghostbur?”

_Yes, Phantommy?_

Tommy ignores the nickname. “If I gave you a message to give to Technoblade, would you be able to give it to him _and only_ him?”

It’s a risk, but more than anything, Tommy needs someone on his side, someone who can keep a secret from everyone, and at the end of the day, he trusts Technoblade, even though the idea makes his skin crawl after what happened.

_Of course! What do you want me to say?_

“Hang on, I think I have some paper.”

Tommy finds a scrap piece of paper and the nub of a pencil, then kneels to use his knee to write.

**_Techno,_ **

**_First off, you’re still a dick for using those withers and executing Tubbo, no matter how much “peer pressure” you claim you were under._ **

**_Second, I’m very much alive. I have no idea how, but I ended up on a different server. I won’t tell you the name, just to be safe, but I promise I’m trying my best not to piss anyone off._ **

**_Third, did you know that, apparently, I_ ** **_did_ ** **_have wings? According to someone on my new server, Dream’s been messing around with people’s memories and my code in particular, probably because he’s a dickhead who tried to kill me._ **

**_DO NOT TRUST DREAM._ ** **_Do not tell anyone I’m alive. Burn this letter when you’re done with it._ **

**_-Big T._ **

After a moment, Tommy adds a PS.

**_P.S. Don’t worry about Ghostbur. No matter what I say he thinks I’m just in denial about being dead, which is understandable._ **

**_P.P.S. Maybe let Ghostbur keep believing that._ **

Finished, Tommy folds the note and writes, **_open me when you’re alone_** on the front. Only then does he realize a flaw in his plan: he can’t see Wilbur.

“How can I hand this to you?” Tommy asks out loud.

_Hold it out and I’ll try to grab it,_ Wilbur suggests, and when Tommy does as he’s told, something snatches the note from his fingers.

“Please tell me that was you.”

_Yes, I’ve got it. When do you want me to give it to him?_

“When no one else is there. I mean it, Ghostbur, don’t even _tell_ anyone that I gave you a note,” Tommy pleads.

_Ok, Phantommy,_ Wilbur says cheerfully. _Have fun being dead and not a ghost!_

Tommy jerks awake in his little dirt hut, daylight streaming through the windows. He takes a deep breath. “Just a dream. Just a really, really weird dream.”

He goes to brush his hair out of his face and freezes.

On the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, there’s little pencil marks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *looks at all the comments about how wholesome this fic is*  
> Me: *Looks at this chapter*  
> Me: It was gonna happen at some point, guys.


	9. Letters (A Drabble)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not part of the actual story, really, but it's a drabble I wrote after finishing the last chapter- so, don't consider this canon in the sense that this is how it went down, as I might change things later. This is just a little treat for you guys for being absolutely amazing!

_ Hi, Technoblade! _

Techno’s so used to Wilbur’s ghost popping in, he doesn’t even jump. “Hello, Ghostbur.”

_ I talked to Phantommy yesterday!  _ Wilbur says happily.

“I heard,” Techno grunts. How could he have not, when Phil called in the middle of the night to tell him, in tears, that whatever was left of his little brother wasn’t coming back.

In Techno’s opinion, it was a blessing and a curse. He had failed, utterly failed, as a brother. Wilbur was dead, Tommy wasn’t, and Techno had shown up after he had been exiled from his country and  _ laughed  _ at him. Then Tommy was dead, and according to Tubbo, Dream had carried his lifeless body into L’Manberg and said he would allow them to bury him there.

Dream said he had jumped.

Techno wondered if he had been pushed.

When Phil had told him, Techno managed to keep it together until his father had hung up, and then cried like a little kid for the first time since Wilbur’s death, six months before.

Techno had been allowed to come for the funeral, probably more for Phil’s sake than anything else, and had helped carry the casket. They had buried Tommy under the L’Mantree, and then Technoblade had gone home and mourned for his little brother in private.

“What do you want, Ghostbur?” Technoblade asks, dragging himself back into the present.

Wilbur looks lost for a moment, and Techno thanks whatever god there might be that he doesn’t have to see Tommy, spitfire, loudmouth Tommy, like what his twin’s become.

_ Oh! Tommy gave me something for you!  _

Wilbur reaches into his pocket and pulls out a letter. Technoblade takes it with trembling hands.

On the front, in Tommy’s signature messy handwriting, is  **_open me when you’re alone._ **

Techno waits until Wilbur leaves that night to unfold the letter.

All day, his mind whirls with questions- would it be like Wilbur’s books, long and rambling with no real point to them? A final insult, well-deserved, about how much Techno had failed his little brother? A clarification on if Tommy did take his own life, or if Dream had a hand in it?

When Wilbur’s ghost disappears into the trees to head back to L’Manberg, Techno sits by the fire and unfolds the paper.

**_Techno,_ **

**_First off, you’re still a dick for using those withers and executing Tubbo, no matter how much “peer pressure” you claim you were under._ **

Techno rolls his eyes and keeps reading.

**_Second, I’m very much alive._ **

Techno almost drops the letter into the fireplace, and he’s overwhelmed by a sense of relief so strong he has to pause for a moment. Chat, who had all been quiet up until then, started chanting  _ TOMMY’S ALIVE!  _ And  _ DREAM IS A LYING PRICK! _

**_I have no idea how, but I ended up on a different server. I won’t tell you the name, just to be safe, but I promise I’m trying my best not to piss anyone off._ **

“I doubt that,” Technoblade mutters to himself, but he’s smiling.

**_Third, did you know that, apparently, I_ ** **_did_ ** **_have wings? According to someone on my new server, Dream’s been messing around with people’s memories and my code in particular,_ **

_ Holy shit,  _ Techno thinks, and things start falling into place. Phil had acted strangely after Tommy and Wilbur joined the SMP, and Techno remembered him sometimes taking Tommy aside for a private conversation, but for some reason that didn’t make sense up until now, Techno couldn’t remember why.

Techno feels the surge of red-hot anger and  _ blood for the blood god  _ start, because, as Phil explained, taking an Avian’s wings is a punishment worse than death, but pushes them back until he’s finished the letter.

**_probably because he’s a dickhead who tried to kill me._ **

_ CALLED IT!  _ yells a significant portion of chat. Technoblade has to resist the urge to get his axe right then and there.

**_DO NOT TRUST DREAM._ ** **_Do not tell anyone I’m alive. Burn this letter when you’re done with it._ **

**_-Big T._ **

**_P.S. Don’t worry about Ghostbur. No matter what I say he thinks I’m just in denial about being dead, which is understandable._ **

**_P.P.S. Maybe let Ghostbur keep believing that._ **

Techno reads the letter over and over, until he has it memorized, and then tosses it into the fire. He watches the paper crumble to ash, then gets out his planner. He’s been meaning to build a bunker anyway.

Dream is going to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is just a little something extra. I hope you guys enjoyed!


	10. Morning Chats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all really liked that Technodrabble huh

Tommy doesn’t work on his tower.

Instead, he goes down into his mine, even though he feels slightly claustrophobic in the small tunnels, and starts grinding for more cobble. It’s because he needs more for the inside of his tower, he reasons. Not because he’s shaken by that dream-that-was-not-a-dream. 

Tommy’s fine.

He finds iron, and some gold, but no diamonds, yet. The repetitive swings help settle his racing heart.

_ Tubbo thinks I’m dead. _

_ Dream told him I jumped. _

_ Phil didn’t want me back. _

_ Why did I ask Wilbur to take a message for Technoblade? _

His thoughts spin uselessly inside his head, and no answers are forthcoming. 

Tommy fills up his inventory and realizes he forgot to bring a chest or something down with him, so now he has to make the trek back up to the surface to store his supplies.

“Shit.”

This has not been a very good day so far.

Tommy runs into Grian while he’s stuffing cobble into his chests outside. 

“What are you planning on doing with your tower?” 

“Making it into a house, maybe,” Tommy says, guarded. He’s heard enough insults about how ugly his towers are to expect anything different. 

“Are you going to use some different blocks or just cobble?” Grian asks.

“Donno. Might use some granite for the roof.” Tommy actually hadn’t even thought of it until that moment, but he did have a bunch.

Grian takes off, and Tommy watches him do a lap around his tower before coming back. 

“It’s a good start, and the granite’ll contrast nicely. Are you planning on texturing it up a bit?”

Tommy’s taken aback- no one’s ever actually complimented his towers before- but he keeps his face flat. “I’m not a builder. I don’t do any fancy shit.”

Grian shrugs. “Then it’s a good tower. If you’re planning on working with cobblestone a lot, you should go talk to Bdubs- he uses it quite a bit too and might have some tips for you.”

“I’m fine,” Tommy says flatly.

Grian hesitates, then sighs. “Tommy-”

“I said, I’m fine,” Tommy snaps.

“Just listen to me, alright?” Grian insists. “If you want to be alone, that’s fine-”

“THEN LEAVE ME ALONE!” Tommy roars, his self-control snapping like tiny threads. “I don’t need any help! I don’t  _ want  _ any help! I’m perfectly fine on my own! God knows I’ve done it enough!”

Grian takes a tiny step back, and Tommy glares at him, chest heaving.

“I don’t know what kind of bullshit you guys are trying to pull by pretending to be nice,” Tommy hisses, “And I don’t particularly care, as long as you just leave me alone and STOP FUCKING WITH ME!”

Grian shakes his head and spreads his wings. “Noone’s trying to mess with you, Tommy. I promise.”

With that, Grian throws himself into the sky and heads east towards his own base.

Tommy spends the night underground, looking for diamonds. He hasn’t gotten any more work done on his tower, but that’s fine.

Tommy’s fine.

Tommy steps out of his mine, rubbing his eyes, and freezes.

"Hey, Tommy," Xisuma says.

Tommy risks a quick look around his base. Nothing's missing that he can see- all the chests are there, and his tower's still standing- but he still rests his hand close to his new diamond axe. "What are you doing at my base?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

Tommy tenses, because there’s never a good reason for someone to say  _ that _ . Is he in trouble?

“Grian messaged me last night,” Xisuma begins, and Tommy takes a step back and reaches for his axe. If the admin gets violent, at least he’s armed now.

Xisuma backs up, giving him space, and says, “I’m just here to talk, Tommy. I promise.”

There’s a long, tense moment, before Tommy puts his axe away, but keeps it in reach. Xisuma sighs.

“No one, and I mean  _ no one,  _ on this server is messing with you,” he huffs. “I get the feeling that things might be a little different where you come from, but Hermitcraft is a- well, I wouldn’t call it a peaceful server, exactly, but there’s no ill will. People are just trying to help.”

“I don’t need it,” Tommy says, but quietly. “I don’t want pity.”

_ You don’t piss off your admin. _

“It’s not pity, Tommy,” Xisuma explains. “It’s just how we do things.”

“I’m fine on my own, thanks,” Tommy snaps, and Xisuma steps towards him, face unreadable under his helmet.

Tommy instantly shrinks back. He’s messed up, big time, and now Xisuma’s mad, because what else could he be-

_ You don’t piss off your admin you don’t piss off your admin you don’t- _

Xisuma reaches for something, and Tommy brings an arm up to cover his face and braces for the blow that he knows is coming.

_ Youdon’tpissoffyouradminYoudon’tpissoffyouradminYou- _

“Tommy?”

Trembling, Tommy opens his eyes.

Xisuma’s a few good steps away, hands empty. “I’m not going to hurt you, Tommy.”

Tommy doesn’t fall for it. He stays stone-still but for the tremble in his hands, making sure his face is protected. He doesn’t dare go for his axe.

“What’s going on?”

Tommy jumps. 

Grian’s landed a little ways away and is looking back and forth between the two of them- Tommy, cowering by the entrance to his mine, and Xisuma, who has his hands spread in an attempt to look peaceful. Tommy has to turn his whole head to look at the builder, but he’s still able to keep Xisuma in view.

“I moved too quickly,” Xisuma says, and apparently that’s all Grian needs.

“X, why don’t you let me talk to Tommy alone?” Grian suggests. “I’ll meet you back at the mansion.”

Tommy does a full-body flinch as Xisuma takes off, and doesn’t relax a single bit. He’s seen how stacked these hermits are- every single one of them is dangerous, even though Grian’s shorter than he is.

He flinches again when Grian gently grabs him by the shoulders and guides him down to a sitting position on the grass. “Breathe, Tommy. You’re ok.”

He doesn’t get it- he had screamed at Grian less than 24 hours before, but the man’s being so careful with him now it’s like he forgot it ever happened.

They sit on the grass in silence for a while, until the adrenaline wears off and Tommy pulls his knees up to his chest.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Tommy asks quietly, because it’s clear that Grian’s waiting for him to speak first. “I was a huge ass to you yesterday.”

Grian puts away the string he was fiddling with and rests his chin in his hand. He’s silent for a moment, then says, “Because I’ve been where you are.”

Tommy looks up in surprise.

“I won’t go into too much detail,” Grian continues, “But, when I first became friends with Mumbo and then when I later joined Hermitcraft, I- well, I acted a lot like you. The other hermits helped me get past it, but I remember thinking how much it would have meant if there was someone who’d actually been through something like what I went through.”

Tommy examines Grian’s face for any hint of a lie, any sense of dishonesty, and finds none.

“I’m not asking you to tell us all your secrets and become best friends overnight,” Grian says gently. “I know it’s strange- honestly, it blew my mind when I first got here- but the hermits are good people, Tommy, and I get the sense there haven’t been a lot of good people in your life.”

Tommy looks down at his compass, the red needle spinning uselessly, and feels a lump form in his throat.

“Just…” Grian sighs and stands. “Think about it, ok? I promise, nothing bad is going to happen to you here.”

Tommy watches as Grian takes off, and tucks his compass back into his shirt.

“I’ll think about it,” he murmurs.


	11. Tours

Grian shows up early the next day, bringing Mumbo and some obsidian to get Tommy a Nether portal.

“That looks great, Tommy!” Grian exclaims, gazing up at the now mostly-finished tower. “What’s the platform for?”

“So I can land and take off without jumping out a window or some shit,” Tommy replies, and he doesn’t miss the sigh from Mumbo.

“Oh, that’s brilliant! I’ll have to remember that for my base next season. Now,” Grian asks, “Where do you want your portal?”

Tommy leads them into the tower itself, and then down to where he’s dug out a large basement that he lined with some stone brick. It’s rough, and he had some trouble with mobs due to his new ability to see in semi-darkness- he forgot to light it up properly- but it’s better than the dirt shack.

“Hey, Grian,” Tommy asks, “Do some Avians have, like, special abilities?”

“Like what?” Grian counters cheerfully, setting down the obsidian where Tommy pointed.

“Like seeing in the dark? Like, not pitch-black, but I’m finding it easier to see at night.”

Grian straightens up and glances at him. “You’ve got owl wings, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Tommy says, shrugging.

“Then that’s normal. Most Avians tend to take after one specific bird and get some abilities from that.” Grian replies.

“Oh!” Tommy snaps his fingers as a memory surfaces. “I remember that my dad always really liked shiny things. He seemed to have a knack for finding them.”

“Yeah, that’s a fairly common one. I got to talk with Philza Minecraft once, a while back during MCC, and apparently that’s his ability too.”

_ Gee, what a coincidence,  _ Tommy thinks sarcastically. Out loud, though, he asks, “Why is that a common ability?”

Grian shrugs. “Back in the early days, when Avians were openly… well, hunted, for lack of a better word, Raven Avians- like Philza- and Crow Avians had an advantage because they could use their ability to find diamonds for armour and weapons, while other Avians, like you and me, had to use the same methods as humans. So now there’s more Raven and Crow Avians than Owl or Parrot Avians, and thus, the ‘trinket’ ability is the most common.”

“You said ‘ _ were  _ openly hunted’,” Tommy asks, “But you also said that pretty much all Avians hide their wings in public. So, like, is there a black market or some shit? Is some asshole out there claiming Avian feathers cure cancer?”

Grian pauses for a moment. “Nothing like that,” he finally says, slowly. “Most people actually don’t care about Avians anymore, but there’s still enough violent and crazy people to make hiding a good idea.”

“But how do you hide huge fucking wings? It’s not like you can just throw on a coat and fucking stroll down the street,” Tommy points out.

Grian turns to face him, tucks his wings in tight, and with a small  _ poof,  _ they disappear.

“Holy shit, man!” 

Mumbo sighs.

With another  _ poof,  _ Grian’s wings reappear, and he grins. “That’s how.”

“It’s- I know a shapeshifter, it kinda sounds like what happens when they turn into whatever the fuck their form is-”

“Tommy,  _ please  _ at least try to curb the foul language?” Mumbo pleads.

“Yeah, there’s actually a theory that avians may have been shapeshifters at some point,” Grian explains, shrugging. “Magic is weird.”

“My brother’s a shapeshifter.” Tommy doesn’t know why he says it, why he gives these people anything, but surely there’s no harm in his little slip-up, so he adds, “Both of them, actually.”

“That’s really cool. Ren- the guy with the Star Wars base- is a shapeshifter, too, so don’t freak out if you see a giant dog running around.” Grian steps back to look at the ring of obsidian. “Well, I think we’re ready to light this up. You wanna do the honours, Tommy?”

Tommy takes out his flint and steel, and lights the portal in the middle. It flares to life with the usual purple particles. “Alright, what’s next?”

After fooling around with enderpearls, pistons, and some TnT, Tommy has a nice new nether portal on the bedrock roof, and the trio head to the Shopping District to give him a proper tour of the place.

“How many shops do you guys  _ have?” _

The sun is high in the sky, and they’re eating lunch by the Barge. The streets are quiet, and Tommy’s blown away by the sheer amount of builds on just this one island- and according to Grian, more are constantly being added.

“Noone’s ever bothered to count,” Mumbo says, brushing crumbs from his mustache. “It’s not all shops, you know- there are some minigames, too.”

Tommy’s about to respond when a firework explodes in the distance. Not the simple  _ fwee  _ of a firework boost, but the  _ fwee-BOOM  _ of an actual rocket. 

He throws himself to the ground before he knows what he’s doing and covers his head, the explosions getting closer and closer with every heartbeat that’s pounding in his ears. Was it another war? Was he about to be caught in the crossfire? What’s going on? Who’s shooting?

_ I need to make sure Tubbo is safe who’s shooting at him where’s Wilbur where are they I don’t wanna die today I only have one life left rockets really hurt- _

He’s breathing too fast but he can’t stop and he can feel himself shaking and the blood is roaring in his ears-

Someone grabs him by the shoulders and tugs him up and he panics as they pull him into a hug.

“Easy, Tommy, easy, you’re ok. Everything’s alright.”

_ Oh. _

Tommy slumps as Mumbo keeps murmuring. “Breathe, Tommy, just breathe. It’s only Tango.”

“W-who’s getting shot a-at?” Tommy stutters, trembling. “Who’s f-f-fighting?”

“No one, Tommy. Everyone’s ok,” Mumbo says soothingly, voice steady but for a slight tremor. “Including you. You’re ok. Just sit and breathe for a moment, alright?”

Tommy humours him for another couple of seconds, to let his racing heart slow down, then pulls away. They sit in awkward silence, Tommy trying to stop his hands from shaking, until Grian- Tommy hadn’t even noticed he left- comes back.

“Are you ok, Tommy?” Grian asks softly.

“I’m fine,” Tommy snaps, a little harsher than really necessary, but he doesn’t care. “What the fuck happened?”

Grian appears completely unfazed. “TangoTek lost a bet and has to use the explodey fireworks instead of the normal ones for flying.”

“Tommy,” Mumbo asks, “Why did you hear fireworks and ask who was getting shot at?”

“No reason.”

“Tommy-” Grian starts, and Tommy gives him his best  _ leave-me-alone  _ glare. 

Apparently, Grian gets the message, because he asks with what’s clearly forced cheer, “How about we continue the tour? Lots to see, lots to do, after all!”

For the rest of the tour, Tommy tries to convince Grian and Mumbo that he’s fine. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of Wilbur’s coat until they stop shaking, laughs and jokes way too loud, even for him, and ignores the sideways glances the two send to each other. But he’s tired, once the adrenaline’s worn off, and the peacefulness of the morning is gone.

They head home once the sun starts to get close to the horizon, and go their separate ways on the Nether roof. Before they part, however, Mumbo hands Tommy a book.

“I drew up some concepts for the bionic eye,” the redstoner explains. “Look them over tonight and let me know what you think, alright?”

Tommy nods and tucks the book away in his inventory.

He doesn’t think he’s going to be able to sleep tonight, anyway.


	12. Truth and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno chapter! Still haven't decided if my Drabble is canon yet, but this definitely is!

Techno's been busy.

In the four days since Wilbur's ghost delivered Tommy's letter, he's started doing his research and now has a small library's worth of books on Avian legends. There's something going on here, below Dream just not allowing people to fly on the SMP.

Dream is smart. Dream knows what re-writing someone's code can do- and now, so does Techno. 

(He has nightmares about how wrong it could have gone, what Tommy could have been turned into. If Dream had missed a single line of code, given any less energy, Tommy would be dead or warped to the point of his very existence being pure agony.)

Technoblade managed to convince a mage on Skyblock that he knew to do a magic scan of his brain and removed the memory block they found, and subtly hinted for Phil to do the same, although his father doesn't know his memory's been altered. He's lucky that, for whatever reason, Dream did a simple block instead of trying to wipe his memory entirely.

So he remembers when Tommy first learned to fly, and the stories that Philza used to tell them all about the god of the sky that every Avian knew the name of but could never remember, and the time Tommy dyed his feathers bright pink to match Technoblade's hair, and the countless times they would find Tommy in the middle of an almost pitch-black room due to his night vision, and how he used to call Tommy Chicken Child, and a thousand little things that he didn't know he missed until he had them back.

He also remembers how Tommy, if he had a power beyond the normal Owl Avian night vision, never told him what his ability is. He knows that Philza can find diamonds and emeralds and redstone a lot faster than normal players, and he's heard stories about how Parrot Avians can mimic almost anything or anyone, but Phil always steered the conversation of powers away from the subject of Owl Avians.

Which is why Technoblade's reading a book on the subject that's probably older than the Ender Dragon when Phil shoves his front door open so hard it hits the wall with a loud _BAM!_

Techno looks up from his book and can tell that he's not going to get any more reading done today, and sighs. "What's happened now?"

"Tommy was an Avian," Phil says, horrified.

Techno bookmarks his page and closes his book. "You got the memory block removed?"

Phil sits down, uninvited, in his usual chair. "Yes. And I assume you did too?"

"Yup."

"My God." Phil has to take a moment, compose himself, before he can continue. "I remember, now, the first time he and Wil visited after they joined the SMP, and he didn't have his wings. When I pulled him aside-"

"He thought you were losing it," Techno finishes. He remembers the time Tommy and Wilbur had visited his island, too; he had simply thought Tommy was hiding his wings out of habit, even though Techno had set the island to private, until Phil had relayed the side conversation to him after his brothers had left.

"I should never have let him go back," Phil says quietly. "Why did I let him go back?"

"It's _Tommy,"_ Technoblade points out. "You know he wouldn't have listened."

Phil makes some kind of affirmative noise and stares into the fire for a long, long time. Techno picks up his book again.

"Why are you researching Avian powers?" Phil finally asks, glancing at the spine. 

"Because whoever took Tommy's wings probably did it for a reason," Techno grunts. "And the most logical reason is because they either feared the power he might have, or wanted it for themselves."

Phil is silent again, for a moment, then says, "Some Owl Avians, when they turn sixteen, can dreamwalk and talk to the dead."

It's a good thing that Techno's had years to practice keeping his face flat, because things suddenly click into place; how Wilbur talked to Tommy, even though he wasn't dead, mainly. Tommy must have been asleep when the exchange occurred. 

Clearing his throat, Techno started to ask, "Was Tommy-"

"No way to know," Phil replies. "The change to his code to make him human would have cut him off from the God-With-No-Name and stripped him of his powers. And since he didn't…"

_He didn't want to come back._

Guilt, hot and heavy and sour, forms in Technoblade's stomach. He hasn't told Phil Tommy's alive. 

He's spent his nights mulling it over, especially when Phil visited the day after Wilbur's ghost delivered the letter and Techno could see the still-fresh grief on his father's face. He understands; before he knew Tommy was still alive, Techno had sat on the roof for hours, cursing the stars that he, the one who dove into PvP without a second thought, made enemies wherever he went, and had fully earned his name of the Blood God, had outlived both his brothers that at one point he had sworn he would die for. 

It's worse to have his memory back in some ways, because now he knows that Phil sent him to the SMP to look after his brothers.

"I'm sorry," Techno mutters, his eyes starting to moisten. "I'm sorry I didn't protect them like you told me to."

_But I'm doing it now. It may be too late for Wilbur, but Tommy handed me his life and told me to tell no one._

Phil looks up, and he must read the guilt on Techno's face, because he moves to sit beside him and wraps a wing around his shoulder. "It's not your fault, Techno. I'm the one who should have realized something was wrong sooner than… you know."

Techno knows.

 _You killed my twin,_ he thinks, and he knows it's not fair, but there's a hole where Wilbur used to be that can never be filled. The ghost wearing his favourite yellow sweater does nothing but tear the wound open.

He should tell Phil. He should, because it would be the kind thing to do.

But he remembers how Tommy used to trust him so completely that he'd sometimes wake up to his little brother climbing into his bed after a childhood nightmare, knowing that Techno would let him under the covers and chase the bad dreams away. 

He remembers murdering Tommy's best friend and insisting he was in the right, and he remembers the way Tommy looked at him with fear and disgust the day Wilbur died and Techno helped destroy everything he loved. 

He remembers the way Tommy curled in on himself when Techno visited him in exile to laugh at him.

Technoblade has, again and again and again, destroyed Tommy's trust in him. Yet, his littlest brother chose to tell Wilbur to give _him_ a letter, and in doing so, trusted Techno with his life. He'd given Techno a chance to be part of that life again.

Techno's willing to prove himself worthy of that trust, and so, until he gets word from Tommy, Phil can't know.

Phil ends up staying the night, as he usually does, and Techno watches as he stops at the twin headstones in the forest for a few minutes before continuing on to L'Manberg. Tommy's true grave is under the L'Mantree, of course, and they never found Wilbur's body once the dust from the withers and the explosions settled, but Techno made a small memorial for Wilbur when he moved and added one for Tommy.

He checks on them as part of his afternoon chores, to make sure the candles on Tommy's memorial are still lit. It's a useless ritual, one that he just started, but Techno likes to imagine he's helping Tommy stay alive as long as the small flames keep burning.

(There are no candles on Wilbur's grave, and Techoblade has no intention of adding any; he knows his twin is gone.)

Phil had left something on each of the graves: a small lapis heart on Wilbur's, and a moonstone pendant carved in the shape of a wing on Tommy's. 

Techno picks up the latter and examines it, and remembers something; It's tradition to give an Avian child a moonstone when they turn sixteen. In fact, he remembers Phil giving Tommy one similar to the one he's now holding.

He also remembers finding that same pendant during the razing of L'Manberg and crushing it under his boot in a fit of anger and the sharp feeling of betrayal.

Techno cleans up the graves a little bit and slips the moonstone wing over his head. If Tommy- the real Tommy- shows up in his dreams, he'll make sure to give it to him.


	13. Apologies

The next day dawns bright and clear as Tommy drags himself out of his mine. He’s thinking about grabbing his bed and curling up for a nap in a little nook somewhere, he’s that tired, and he almost misses the gray shulker box in front of his dirt hut.

There’s a book in an item frame on top, and Tommy quickly pops it out and reads it.

**Hey, Tommy.**

**You haven’t met me yet, but I’m TangoTek, the guy with the rockets. I’m really, really sorry for scaring you like that and I wanted to make it up to you.**

**In this box are a couple stacks of concrete- Grian said you were building a tower or something?- as well as some wool, if you want to work with that instead. I’ve thrown some dyes in there as well in case they’re the wrong colours.**

**Again, I’m really, really sorry, and I hope the next time we meet will be a bit less explode-y.**

**-Tango**

Tommy tucks the book into his inventory. He’s not quite sure how to feel about this; no one has ever gone so far as to apologize for scaring him before, especially not like this, but it doesn’t feel like pity.

Ok, it does a little bit, but Tommy’s starting to realize that these “hermits” are actually much closer to each other than the name implies, and maybe they _are_ just trying to make him feel welcome. In their own, very weird, might-get-you-stabbed-if-you-let-your-guard-down- _what-are-you-DOING-Tommy-_

Tommy shuts his eyes and just breathes for a moment, letting the paranoia die down. It’s just a box full of fancy shit he’d never use, anyway. No reason to build a bunker just yet.

 _Though maybe I should at least start on one, just in case,_ Tommy thinks, and he makes a mental note to find a location later as he opens the shulker. 

The wool and concrete are in shades of gray and white, with some blue, red, and black dye at the very bottom. After considering it for a moment, Tommy dismisses the idea of using any of it in his tower. He’ll stick to cobblestone, thank you very much.

As he goes to pick up the shulker, a patch of yellow daisies catches his eye, and he freezes.

He could make the flag.

Tommy hadn’t dared do it while in Logestshire- Dream would have burned it down in an instant and possibly burnt him with it, and he never really wanted to, anyway. But here, no one knew what L’Manberg was. At most, they might recognize it as being the same as the pin on Wilbur’s old coat.

Tommy puts the shulker box inside, empties his inventory of everything but his axe and the last of Stress’s cookies, and heads out to go get some wood and a couple flowers.

He builds the _old_ flag, the one Wilbur- the real Wilbur- designed, instead of the new flag that flies over Tubbo’s L’Manberg. It’s incredibly easy to do with wings, and Tommy’s done by midday.

He’s tired, but feels proud of himself as he flies a little ways away to take in the scene: his tall, almost-finished T-Tower, and the L’Manberg flag flying over his dirt hut that, honestly, looks kinda ugly.

Tommy’s on a roll now, even though he keeps yawning so wide his jaw aches, so he decides to grab some granite and cobblestone and at least finish the outside of his tower.

He’s perched on the edge of the roof, placing in the granite squares, when he hears fireworks off in the distance. 

Tommy ducks down instantly and listens, listens for the trailing _fwee_ that means… well, he wouldn’t call them friends, but if there’s no _boom,_ it means they won’t attack him outright.

_Fweee!_

Some of the tension leaves Tommy’s shoulders, and he goes back to work as if nothing had happened in the hopes that if it’s anyone other than Grian, Mumbo, or Xisuma, they’ll leave him alone if he’s busy.

No such luck. Grian lands beside him on the roof, and Mumbo glides down to the base of the tower and heads inside.

“How’s it going?” Grian asks, sitting down on the finished part of the roof.

Tommy shrugs. “It’s going ok, I guess. Tango dropped off a box-”

“THERE’S NO STAIRS!” Mumbo shouts, voice echoing up the empty tower and making them both jump.

“IT’S NOT FINISHED YET!” Tommy yells back. “AND I DON’T REALLY NEED STAIRS ANYWAY!”

Grian stifles a chuckle as Mumbo calls, “WELL, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET UP?”

“TRY GROWING WINGS! IT WORKED WONDERS FOR ME!”

Grian briefly doubles over, shaking with laughter, as Mumbo appears outside and boosts upward to get onto the roof.

“I think it might have been a mistake to let you two meet,” Mumbo grumbles, landing on the granite with a slight stumble and sitting on the other side of Tommy. “I’m going to wake up one day with my doors _and_ my stairs missing.”

“Thanks for the idea!” Tommy says brightly, while Grian goes back to suffocating on his laughter.

“You’re an absolute genius, Mumbo Jumbo,” Grian finally says, still chuckling. Then, in a voice that sounds _exactly_ like Mumbo, he sighs, “Oh, I’m such a spoon.”

“Holy shit, man! How’d you do that?” Tommy asks, flabbergasted. If he hadn’t been looking at the Avian, he’d have sworn that it had been Mumbo who spoke.

“Oh, right! I completely forgot to tell you yesterday when the subject came up, but some Parrot Avians- like me- can mimic pretty much any sound made by anything or anyone,” Grian explains. Then, as if to prove it, he makes a sound like a piston firing.

“I saw your mouth move, Grian,” Mumbo says, unimpressed.

“He usually falls for that,” Grian mutters under his breath. 

Tommy grins. “What can Owl Avians do?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Grian says, suddenly sombre. “I’ve never actually met any other Owl Avians, so I don’t know if it’s true or not, but according to a legend I heard, Owl Avians could walk in other people’s dreams and even, in some cases, talk to the dead.”

Tommy’s blood runs cold, and he stares off into the distance. After a moment, he says, quietly, “I had a dream that I was talking to my older brother, a few days after I got my wings. I gave him a note and when I woke up, there were pencil marks on my hands.”

“Looks like the legends have some truth to them after all,” Grian says. Then, he adds, “You have a moonstone on you, right?”

Tommy remembers the pendant that Phil gave him for his sixteenth birthday, and how it had been crushed under Techno’s boot the same day Wilbur died. He’d found the biggest piece the next day, half-buried in the dirt, and left it there. “I used to have one, but I lost it a while ago.”

“WHAT?”

Grian’s reaction catches Tommy off-guard, and when he glances at Mumbo, the redstoner’s face shows a shocking amount of concern. “Why? Are they important?”

“Yes! Very!” Grian stands and pulls Tommy up with him. “C’mon, I’ve got a few spare moonstones at my base.”

They end up leaving Mumbo trailing behind them as Grian rushes Tommy towards his mansion, refusing to explain why they were in such a hurry. 

When they get there, Tommy watches as Grian scrambles through his various chests and mutters to himself.

“What’s the big deal about moonstones anyway?” Tommy asks, crossing his arms.

“Well, for one, the God-With-No-Name often appears with the moon and is said to wear moonstones on their talons so that no matter what way they appear, we’ll know it’s them,” Grian says, pulling his head out of a chest, “And for two, moonstones keep us Avians with powers from going completely off the wall. Thank goodness this came up now instead of later.”

“What do you mean, _off the wall?”_ Tommy repeats, using air quotes.

“Over time, if an Avian with powers isn’t wearing a moonstone of some kind, their power starts to sort of… well, take over them, for a lack of a better word.” Grian moves onto another chest as Mumbo lands.

Tommy waves, and Grian continues, “From what I’ve see- heard, Raven and Crow Avians become obsessed with gems and other shiny objects to the point of piling up their collection and sleeping on it, like a dragon; Parrot Avians lose their real voice and are only able to repeat what they’ve heard, and Owl Avians… Like I said, I haven’t actually met any, but the lines between dreaming and death are a lot thinner than most players would like to believe. Maybe they go to talk to someone in their dreams and just… don’t come back.”

All three of them are silent for a moment, and Tommy swears he can feel the same damp, heavy fog from his dream settling into his bones. 

“Spooky shit, G-man,” Tommy finally says, just to break the silence. “And uh, yeah, if you happen to have an extra moonstone laying around, I won’t say no.”

“Right, right, but where did I _put_ them?” Grian mutters, almost to himself.

Mumbo rolls his eyes. “You put them in your ender chest, remember, so you’d always have at least one more on hand if something went wrong.”

Grian shakes his head and sighs. “What would I do without you, Mumbo?”

“Well, for one, you’d probably pick on Scar more than you do already.”

Grian lets out a laugh as he pulls out an ender chest and places it down. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

He opens it up and digs around for a moment, before pulling out a white shulker box. “They should be in here. Pendant or bracelet, Toms?”

“Toms?” Tommy wrinkles his nose.

“You called me G-man, so I figured we needed to be even in the nickname department,” Grian explains, opening up the shulker. “I’ve got two pendants shaped like wings, one that looks like the moon, and a few silver bracelets with plain stones set in. Which one would you like?”

Tommy has to think for a moment. He already has the compass around his neck, of course. But a bracelet wasn’t exactly his style, and it provided a good grip if someone was trying to grab you by the arm. “I’ll take the moon one, if that’s alright.”

Grian passes it to him. It’s a very simple necklace- a strong silver chain with a moonstone about the size of a bottle cap carved to resemble its’ namesake- and Tommy slips it over his head so the stone _clink_ s against his compass as Grian puts the shulker back.

The second the necklace is on, Tommy feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest he hadn’t even noticed was there. His head is slightly clearer, too, though he should probably try to actually sleep tonight.

The difference must be noticeable, because Mumbo grins behind his mustache. “Feeling a bit better?”

“Y-yeah. Wow, that’s weird.” Tommy brings the pendant closer to his good eye, but nothing catches his eye as far as magic runes go. “Don’t humans think that the moonstone is some sort of healing crystal or some shit?”

“Language. And yeah, some do. What probably happened is that a human saw the effects that moonstones have on us and just assumed, maybe, that it would work for them as well,” Grian says. Then, his face turns serious. “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t go trying to dreamwalk or whatever just yet, ok? Like I said earlier, dreams and death aren’t as far apart as people think, and until we know more, it’s probably a good idea for you to stay in your own head.”

Tommy raised his hands in surrender. “Trust me, I have no interest in losing my last canon life poking around in someone’s wet dream or some shit.”

“Last canon life?” Mumbo asks.

“Y’know,” Tommy says, “If you die, and it’s like, really important, you lose a life. If you lose all your lives, you just… stay dead, instead of respawning.”

“And how do you know if a death’s important?” Grian asks, and there’s a look on his face that Tommy can’t quite read.

“Well, like, usually the admin decides-”

“No.” Grian shakes his head. Mumbo’s gone white. “Tommy, that’s- why would you let your admin do something like that?”

Tommy looks at Grian with disbelief. “Because he’s the admin? I mean, if we tried to protest, we’d probably just get killed anyway, so-”

“Tommy, stop talking.” Grian sighs, and massages the bridge of his nose. Then, he says, gently, “That’s not how it works here, OK? You’re always allowed to respawn. Always.”

Tommy wants to believe him, but Grian’s not the admin- he doesn’t get to make that choice. “But-”

“Always, Tommy, no matter how you died or how ‘important’ it was,” Grian says. Mumbo, who seems to have gotten some of his colour back, nods.

Tommy looks at each of them, one at a time, and realizes that he’s not winning this argument. “Alright. I’ll believe you.”

“That being said, still don’t go dream walking until we learn more,” Mumbo adds quickly. “Brains are tricky to navigate.”

For some reason, this makes Grian snort.

“How’s that bionic eye going?” Tommy asks, taking the opportunity to change the subject.

“Oh, spoons! That’s why we stopped by in the first place!” Mumbo groans, facepalming. “I needed to ask you about which of the designs you liked best.”

Luckily, the book had been one of the few things Tommy had kept in his inventory all day, and he quickly pulled it out. “I liked the Netherite and redstone one. It looks fucking badass.”

Mumbo sighs. “Tommy, we’ve talked about the language. But yeah, that is a pretty awesome design, if I do say so myself. Any other ones? We’ll make the socket adaptable so if the eye gets damaged, you can swap it out, and it might be cool to have the eyes be different.”

“Um…” Tommy flips through the book. “This gold one, maybe?”

“Cub might get jealous,” Mumbo chuckles. Before Tommy can ask what he means, Mumbo continues, “So, with that out of the way, I’ll let Iskall know and we’ll start work! I actually have most of the components, so, putting the eyes together, making the socket, all that stuff… We should be ready for surgery in a week, maybe! Possibly less!”

“Pog,” Tommy says. “I’m tired of running into things.”

“Anyway,” Grian begins, “Do you want a hand with that tower of yours? If we work together, we could have you moved in by nighttime.”

Tommy shakes his head and grins. “I’m good. Actually, I think I’ll go work on it right now, but thanks for the moonstone and stuff.”

He takes off, and waves as he goes higher and higher and the two turn into tiny spots on the ground. When he’s out of sight, his grin fades.

_Infinite respawns… yeah, right._


	14. Lore Summary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little summary of all the known lore so far.  
> Next really chapter should be out soon!

Avians are humans with wings, and some legends say they're related to shapeshifters because of the slight poof noise one hears when they hide their wings (this is supported by the fact that Tommy is an Avian, while Techno and Wilbur are shapeshifters).

All Avians except for Philza keep their wings hidden in public, and the general opinion is that everyone's too scared of Technoblade to try and hurt him.

Their god is called God-With-No-Name, who has no gender and has appeared as an owl to Tommy, but can appear as any other bird and is generally associated with the moon and moonstones.

They can fly higher and faster than humans with elytra, but Grian has developed a way to mimic elytra flight to make sure he can still fly with his friends. Avians can also boost with rockets, though we have yet to see Grian do so and Tommy's not exactly eager to try.

The only Avian types we know of are Raven (Phil), Crow, Parrot (Grian) and Owl (Tommy).

Owl Avians, even if they don't have any other powers, always have ridiculously good night vision.

Some Avians have special powers. Raven and Crow Avians have the power to locate shiny things, like diamonds, and tend to have a small collection of coins and shiny buttons. Parrot Avians can mimic anything or anyone, including machinery and mobs. Owl Avians are rare, and no one is quite sure about their powers, but Tommy at the very least can dreamwalk and/or talk to the dead.

It is tradition to give an Avian a moonstone of some sort when they turn sixteen.For Avians with powers, the moonstone stops them from being corrupted by their ability.

If they do not wear a moonstone for a currently unknown amount of time, their powers take over. Raven and Crow Avians start to hoard their shiny things to the point of basically becoming dragons. Parrot Avians lose their true voice and can only mimic others. Owl Avians, again, are rare, and so the theory is that they stray past the border between life and death while dreamwalking and simply don't come back.


	15. Flying With Friends

_Ooooh, Tommy~_

Dream walks towards him, swinging his axe casually. The eyes on his mask seem to pin Tommy in place.

The axe blade is dripping red.

“Dream, please, I- I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry!”

Tommy wants to run, wants to fly but when he tries to spread his wings he feels nothing. He raises a hand to his shoulders and it comes away red, too, red with enough blood that it drips down his wrist and mixes with the stuff leaking from the gash in his wrist before falling to the ground.

 _You tried to run away, Tommy,_ Dream says, getting ever closer and closer. _You were supposed to stay in Logestshire._

“No, no, please, I didn’t mean to, I don’t know how I got here,” Tommy pleads, tries to explain, but still Dream keeps walking, axe still swinging, still dripping red. Eyes bearing into Tommy’s very soul.

_Goodbye, Tommy._

Tommy jolts upright in bed, shaking. The entire right side of his face is aching, and for a brief moment, when he raises a trembling hand to touch his scar, he expects it to come away red.

There’s nothing, though, so Tommy hugs his knees to his chest and waits for his heart to slow down as his thoughts run unchecked.

Oh, god, when Dream finds him, Tommy’s as good as dead. He ran away, he’s with other people, he’s not supposed to be with other people, he’s supposed to be alone, he’s supposed to be in exile, he doesn't want to die in whatever horrible way Dream has in store for him-

But Dream’s his friend, right? Maybe if he went back, apologize, maybe Dream would let him live.

Tommy wraps his wings around himself and strokes his feathers, counting the specks of dark brown against cream and brushing out the dirt. Could he do it? Give up his wings, through whatever method Dream devises, lose his memory again? 

_Would Dream wipe him completely?_

Tommy freezes, a stray feather in his fingers. 

No. No, he can’t go back, because he knows that this time, Dream would make sure he never tries to run again, would make sure that he never disobeys him, and Tommy’s got plenty of ideas of how that might go down.

“But Dream’s my friend,” Tommy whispers to the empty room. “H-he said he was my friend…”

Tommy curls in on himself and cries silently, even though there’s no one to hear him.

He’s wiped his tears away by the time the sun’s up and starts working on the interior of his tower, even though he feels like someone’s been using him as a punching bag.

It’s not that much work, really- he makes three floors on the top, making a grand total of five floors with the ground floor and the basement, and keeps the rest of the tower empty, making holes in the walls for windows for when he has enough glass to fill them in. the floors have stairs in between them, obviously, but the only way to actually get inside is the platform on the topmost one. Tommy’s way down to the ground floor is a hole with a trapdoor that he jumps through whenever he wants to go out the actual door or into the basement.

There’s no point in making a ladder, after all, when jumping down is a lot more fun, and he can fly back up to the outside platform a lot faster then he could climb back up.

He’s in the process of moving his bed and shulker boxes to the top floors when Scar and another player show up, landing at the front door.

“HEY, TOMMY! DO YOU WANT TO GO ENDBUSTING WITH ME AND MY PAL BDUBS?”

Tommy leans over the edge of the platform and shouts, “GIMME A SEC!”

He sets down his shulkers on the floor and then leaps off the platform, stopping his fall a mere three blocks from the ground with one beat of his wings.

“Shmancy.” The new player, who Tommy assumes is Bdubs, has a wide smile and a red headband that’s almost invisible under his netherite helmet. He’s almost as short as Grian. “Did Grian teach you that trick?”

“I figured it out on my own,” Tommy says, guarded. “It’s quicker than just gliding.”

“Nice to see you again, Tommy,” Scar says, holding out a hand. Tommy shakes it. “This is my right-hand-man BdoubleO100, but everyone just calls him Bdubs.”

“Nice to meetcha,” Bdubs says. “Is this the tower Grian said you were building?”

“Yeah. I’m actually just moving all my shit in right now.” Tommy shrugs. Then, he asks, “What’s endbusting?”

“It’s what we call it when we go to the Outer Islands in the End to get things like shulker shells and elytra,” Scar explains, while Bdubs takes a walk around Tommy’s tower. “It’s a rite of passage on the server to get your own set of elytra yourself, though obviously you don’t need them. I was planning on re-stocking my chest monster shop, and then Bdubs wanted to come along to give me a hand, and then we decided to ask if you wanted to come, too. It’d be really helpful to have an Avian with us and Grian’s busy with… something. I’m not sure what.”

Tommy thinks for a moment. It would be nice to explore the End, and if anything goes wrong, he can always fly away.

“Is there other loot, like enchanted books and stuff? And good armour?” he asks. Tommy’s kept his few diamonds safe in a hidden shulker box after he made himself a set of tools, and the only diamond armour piece he has is the chestplate; everything else is iron.

“Oh, yeah, there’s _tons_ of cool stuff,” Bdubs replies, having finished his walk around the tower. “Plus, the ships have dragon heads on the prow, which look awesome when you put them on.” 

“So, you in?” Scar asks, grinning. “It’d be fun, and then Bdubs and I get to brag that we took the new guy to the End first.”

“I’ve actually haven’t been to the End before, like, ever,” Tommy admits. “My dad wouldn’t let me before I turned 14, and the admin on my old server- prick- didn’t let anyone go either.”

“Well now we gotta take ya!” Bdubs announces. “Get your stuff, Tommy, and get ready for a trip to the End!”

“WHERE THE FUCK IS THE FLOOR?”

Tommy looks down into the abyss beneath what Scar and Bdubs had called the main island and tries not to panic. Is there land down there that he can’t see or simply nothing? Would he fall for eternity, should his wings fail?

“Watch your language, please,” Bdubs says, gently tugging him away from the edge. “I know, it’s a little bit scary the first time, but you’re actually the one best suited for the End out of the three of us. Scar and I rely on elytra and rockets and you’ve got an awesome set of wings.”

Tommy ducks his head to avoid looking at a nearby enderman and argues, “Yeah, but you guys have netherite gear and actually know how to use your elytra. I got these wings like, a week ago.”

“And you’ve had Grian teaching you how to fly,” Scar replies. “He’s one of the best fliers- no, _the_ best flier I know, with both his own two wings and an elytra.”

“Yeah! He taught me how to fly, too!” Bdubs exclaims.

Tommy frowns. “But why would he fly with an elytra?”

Scar and Bdubs glance at each other, suddenly sombre.

“Well,” Scar says slowly, “When Grian first joined Hermitcraft, he hid his wings pretty much constantly. He got his hands on an elytra pretty fast and basically re-taught himself how to fly.”

“Yeah. It took him a while before he realized we weren’t gonna… well, he didn’t trust us to know he was Avian, which, y’know, fair enough,” Bdubs says, shrugging. 

“Oh.” Tommy unconsciously draws his own wings in closer.

There’s an awkward silence. Then Scar clears his throat and says cheerily, “Well, let’s get going! We’ve got a long ways to fly before we get into unraided territory.

Much to Tommy’s embarrassment, Bdubs lends him an ender pearl to use to get through the 1-by-1 portal and refuses to let him kill an enderman to pay him back.

“Kid, half the server has ender pearl farms. One pearl doesn’t even make a dent in my supply.”

It’s a little nerve-wracking, flying above nothing with two players flying beside him, but Scar and Bdubs stay to his left and use their rockets sparingly.

“So, how are you liking Hermitcraft so far?” Scar asks, after they’ve been flying for about half an hour.

Tommy shrugs the best he can in midair. “It’s nice, I guess. A lot less dangerous than my last server, at least.” He hesitates for a moment, then asks his own question. “Is it true that you guys have unlimited respawns?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t we? This isn’t a Hardcore server!” Bdubs replies, sounding shocked and appalled. Tommy winces, and catches Scar giving his friend a dirty look.

“Yes, Tommy. You’re allowed to respawn no matter what. Why do you ask?” Scar says evenly.

“No reason,” Tommy replies, then hurriedly changes the subject. “How much farther do we have to fly?”

“About another…” Scar pulls out his comm and checks their coordinates. “Hour, hour and a half, maybe. We can take a break if you need to stop, though.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Tommy says, lying through his teeth. His shoulders are sore, and his wings are cramped from keeping the gliding position for too long, but he can handle it.

By the time the three of them land by an End City that hasn’t been raided, Tommy’s shoulders have actually gone numb. He does a quick stretch, eats a steak, then draws his axe and follows Scar’s and Bdub’s lead in attacking the shulkers.

The first shulker he hits shoots him right in the chest, making him float upwards and hit his head on the ceiling. He pushes off with his feet and hits it again, once, twice. On the third hit, it dies, just as Tommy loses his levitation and drops to the floor. 

He continues on, eventually finding a long tube up that looks like a parkour course with slabs and end rods.

“You good?” Scar asks, and Tommy has to stop himself from laughing when he sees the man dangling from an end rod.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You, uh, need a hand or something?”

Scar shakes his head, then, in an incredible show of athleticism, swings from one end rod to the next until he reaches a slab. “How about you just skip the shulkers for now, and go check if there’s anything in the chests up top. You can always come back down later.”

Tommy nods, spreads his wings, and jumps. There’s not really enough room to fly, but he uses his wings to gain some height as he leaps from rod to slab to floor.

He can hear Bdubs fighting with another shulker somewhere above him, but focuses on the two chests in the room instead.

There’s not much in the first- an iron chestplate with Curse of Binding and some beetroot seeds. The second, however, holds a diamond axe enchanted with Sharpness IV and a Protection II diamond helmet.

Tommy punches the air and dumps his old helmet in the chest, plonking the diamond one on his head. He holds the enchanted axe in his offhand and heads upwards.

Bdub’s picking up the shells from the last shulker when Tommy pokes his head up, and the man grins when he sees the new helmet. “Oooh, nice hat.”

“Thanks. Have you checked these chests yet?”

Bdubs shakes his head. “I’ve got enough gear. They’re all yours, bud.”

They end up raiding three cities and two ships, Bdubs and Scar taking the elytras and Tommy ending up with a full set of diamond gear, plus about a dozen diamonds and even a saddle.

“Alright, how many shells did we get?” Scar asks, as they take a quick break on a small island before heading home.

“I’ve got… five,” Tommy tells him, his heart sinking a little when he remembers that the whole reason he’s here is to help Scar get more shells for his shop. 

“Nice! So you’ve got two new boxes,” Bdubs says.

Tommy blinks, and he glances between Scar and Bdubs. “I-I thought these were for you? Like, for your shop?”

“No, no, no, I wanted your help because you’re more maneuverable in the air and could help me and Bdubs if we got launched really high,” Scar explains quickly. “You earned those shells, Tommy. They’re yours.”

“Oh.” Tommy smiles, just for a moment, then forces his face into a neutral expression and tucks the shells back into his inventory. 

“‘Sides,” Bdubs adds, “I _was_ working for Scar, and I’ve got about half a stack.”

“And I’ve got the other half,” Scar says as he checks his comm. “Oh my gosh, we’ve been out here a while! It’s almost midnight back in the Overworld.”

“Well, that explains why I almost felt like I was gonna fall asleep!” Bdubs exclaims, despite the fact that he looks wide awake.

Tommy resists the urge to yawn and asks, “How far are we from the main island?”

“Um…” Scar checks his comm again. “About two hours of flying.”

Tommy rubs his eyes and sighs, then heaves himself up. “I guess we better get going, then.”

Tommy was not expecting to end up in water.

He’s in a bubble column, pulling him down, and he can see Scar below him. There’s some sort of structure, too, so he waits until he reaches the bottom and steps out.

“What. the. Fuck. is this?”

It’s an entire shop, or at least what looks like a shop, filled with armour stands that have diamond armour and elytra equipped, all enchanted.

“This? Oh, it’s just spare gear and stuff for if someone dies and ends up at world spawn instead of their base,” Scar explains. “You borrow it, go get your own gear, and then return it.”

“This is fucking _insane,_ man, this wouldn’t even last a day on my server without being blown up or some shit-”

“Hey. Watch the language, please,” Scar orders, as Bdubs steps out of the bubble column. To his friend, he says, “We’re sleeping here until the sun’s up. I don’t want to try flying home at this hour.”

“Alright, slumber party!” Bdubs, Tommy has realized, is one of those people who always seem to be in a good mood. “Do you have a bed, Tommy?”

“Uh…” Tommy checks his inventory. “No, not on me.”

“How about in your ender chest?” Bdubs asks.

Tommy sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down at his shoes, embarrassed. “I don’t have one.”

“Oh. Well, I have a spare-”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just head home,” Tommy says, already edging towards the exit.

“Tommy. It’s three in the morning and, no offense, but you look like you got run over by a ravager.” Scar shakes his head. “It’s only until sunrise.”

Tommy glances back at the exit, shoulders and wings so sore they’re actually numb, and imagines flying through the nether on his own all the way back home.

“Fine. But you wake me up at sunrise, ok?”


	16. Coffee, Cake, and Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, we officially hit 2000 kudos and I am absolutely floored. I never thought this fic would ever really get anywhere, but here we are. Thank you to each and every single one of you, and a special shout-out to those of you who comment on almost every chapter- I love seeing your thoughts- and the fan artists who have sent me their art. I can't thank you enough.  
> Also, I'm sure you noticed, but there's a new fic that was listed as inspired by this one, and it's really good! go check it out!  
> Now, without further ado- Chapter 16!

“C’mon, bud, time to get up.”

Tommy brushes away the hand on his shoulder and buries his face in his pillow. It’s the first time in a while he’s been in a good, deep sleep, and he wants to sink back into that blessed unconsciousness. “Mumph. Five more minutes, Wilbur…”

There’s an unfamiliar chuckle in the background. “Tommy, it’s Bdubs. You told us to wake you up at sunrise, remember?”

_Oh._

Tommy remembers where he is and why he’s there, and why it’s a man he met yesterday waking him up instead of his brother.

“I’m awake,” Tommy says flatly, wincing as he rolls over and sits up. His shoulders and wings are aching in protest of their abuse yesterday, a dull, heavy pain that makes him grit his teeth.

“You ok, Tommy?” Bdubs asks.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Tommy stands and picks up the blue bed Bdubs had loaned him, and hands it back. 

He just needs to get back to his tower. One little flight.

“Alright. How about we stop by Lookie Lookie at my Cookie for some coffee and breakfast before we start the day?” Scar suggests. 

_“Start the day?_ Oh, no you don’t, Mr. Mayor,” Bdubs scolds. “I know how you get into your paperwork. We’re having breakfast and then going back to our bases to _rest_.”

Tommy rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, and yawns. “I’m down for that.”

Tommy ends up having to swim to shore, while Scar and Bdubs somehow take off right out of the water. His shoulders protest every movement, his wings weigh him down, and he’s soaked clean through by the time he pulls himself onto the beach.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Scar asks, as Tommy struggles upright.

Tommy nods. “It’s these fucking feathers. They weigh a shit ton when wet.”

Scar raises his hands and steps toward him, then stops. “I have a spell I use with Grian to dry him off. Is it ok if I touch your wings?”

Tommy nods, and clenches his jaw as Scar gently places a hand on each of his wings and mutters something he can’t understand.

A soft, warm feeling starts at Scar’s palms and spreads outwards, soothing Tommy’s aching muscles and leaving dry feathers behind. Tommy doesn’t relax, though, can’t relax, because he can’t see Scar behind him and he’s so acutely aware of how vulnerable he’s made himself.

Scar can use _magic._ Real magic that he can use at will to do almost anything, not like the innate magic of shapeshifting or the limited power granted by potions or enchantments. Scar could kill Tommy with a single word, if he wanted to.

“There we go,” Scar says what feels like an eternity later, stepping back into Tommy’s line of sight. He’s smiling, but Tommy can’t bring himself to smile back.

“Thanks,” Tommy says gruffly, tucking his wings in tight.

He keeps forgetting how dangerous everyone on this server is.

Lookie Lookie at my Cookie is empty except for the owner, a man with a Swedish accent and a construction worker’s outfit who introduces himself as Keralis.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Tommy,” Keralis says cheerfully. “But, ah, why are you all here so early in the day?”

“We went endbusting yesterday and decided to shleep at spawn instead of flying home at three in the morning,” Bdubs answers, as he pours out coffee for the three of them. He gestures to Keralis with the pot and asks, “Want some?”

“Yes, thank you. But, ah, it’s only five-thirty. That’s at most two hours of sleep,” Keralis replies.

“Which is why we’re _all-_ ” Bdubs glares at Scar, who’s peacefully cutting a cake into large slices, as he hands out the mugs, “-going home after breakfast and getting a couple more hours of shut-eye.”

Tommy accepts his coffee with a nod, thoughts spinning. Only two hours of sleep- no wonder he hadn’t had any nightmares. 

Maybe that’s the secret to keeping the nightmares away. If he only sleeps for short periods, he doesn’t have to go back to the bombed-out landscape and the blood-stained axe and Dream and-

He’s startled out of his thoughts when Scar sets down a slice of cake in front of him. “You ok, Tommy? You seemed a little-”

“I’m fine. Just… tired.” Tommy takes a big swig of his coffee and starts eating, figuring that they won’t ask him anything while his mouth is full. It's a good cake, too, so it’s a win-win.

“Well, I need to go check on the rest of my shops,” Keralis says, standing. “Welcome to Hermitcraft, Tommy. See you guys around!”

Scar and Bdubs shout their goodbyes, and Tommy waves as Keralis heads out.

It’s mostly silent after that, the three of them focusing on eating and getting enough coffee into their systems that they don’t fall asleep on the way back to their bases. Tommy ends up going through three slices of cake, a piece of pumpkin pie, and he even pockets a couple golden apples after the two hermits assure him that, yes, the food is actually free.

Scar’s and Bdub’s comms go off as they’re getting ready to leave, cleaning up the paper plates and finishing their coffee. Scar has his hands full, so Bdubs reads the message.

“Tommy, do you have your comm on silent? Cause Grian says he tried to message you a couple times and you didn’t reply,” Bdubs asks.

Tommy nods. “I put it on silent when I first got here. I musta forgotten to turn notifications back on.”

He pulls out his own comm and quickly checks his messages. Sure enough, Grian had messaged him only a couple minutes ago.

_ <Grian>: hey tommy i found some stuff on owl avians _

_ <Grian>: i can drop it off at your base for you, if you’d like _

_ <Grian>: hello? _

_ <Grian>: you still asleep? _

_ <TommyInnit>: sorry my comm was on silent _

_ <TommyInnit>: yeah that’d be great thanks _

_ <Grian>: will do _

“What did he want?” Bdubs asks.

“He found some stuff for me,” Tommy says, keeping his face neutral. He wasn’t sure how much Scar and Bdubs knew about Avians, or if their powers were supposed to be a secret.

“Oh, that’s cool. We all ready to go?”

Tommy makes sure his comm’s notifications are on, and drains his coffee cup as he slips his comm back into the pocket of Wilbur’s old coat. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“We just need to make a quick pit stop at the Chest Monster shop first,” Scar says as they head out. “I want to drop off these shulkers and Tommy should grab an ender chest.”

“I don’t have any way to pick it back up,” Tommy argues.

“Then we’ll stop at Lookie Lookie at my Bookie to grab a Silk Touch book,” Scar says. “It’s only a diamond.”

“ONLY A DIAMOND?”

After grabbing an enderchest that Tommy insists on paying for, even though Scar tries to tell him he doesn’t need to, and enchanting Tommy’s diamond pick, they go through the portal under the Town Hall. They split up on the nether roof, Bdubs heading northeast while Scar and Tommy head southwest.

“Nice job, Tommy,” Bdubs says, shaking his hand. “Thanks for coming along.”

“Thanks for taking me,” Tommy replies.

Bdubs steps back, makes a stern face, and wags a finger at both of them. “Now both of you, get to bed!” 

There’s no malice in his voice, though, and Bdubs is clearly trying not to smile as he turns and launches himself into the sky.

Scar and Tommy do the same, Tommy wincing as his sore muscles protest and then straight up scream when he tries to put his wings in the gliding position.

The pain must show through, despite his effort to mask it, because Scar says gently, “Don’t worry about keeping pace with me. Just get home and rest.”

Tommy’s about to protest, because he can handle a little pain and he doesn’t really want to leave Scar behind, have him out of his sight when he’s this tired. But he’s also not exactly eager to end up eating bedrock because his wings cramped up.

“Yeah, ok.”

Tommy spreads his wings fully, shoots upwards, and heads for his portal. It only takes a minute or two before Scar’s out of sight, and Tommy lets himself relax just a little bit more. Not too much, obviously, because it’s the Nether, but he unclenches his jaw at least.

He stumbles a little bit and takes some damage when he lands, and leans on the obsidian as he waits for the portal to teleport him back to the Overworld.

Once back in his tower, Tommy heads outside and digs up the shulker box he’d hidden by his cow farm. Then, he shakily flies up to his platform, where a chest is waiting along with a couple signs.

_Hey, Toms! I managed to find some old books on Avians, and even some on Owl Avians in particular. Please be careful with them, as they're not actually mine. They belong to an old friend._

_-G_

Tommy leaves the chest for now and puts his new enderchest beside his bed, then starts transferring his diamonds from the shulker into the enderchest. 

When everything’s safe inside, he goes to close the lid, and hesitates. His hand goes to his compass, and he considers putting it inside. After all, it’s not like he can ask Ghostbur to make him a new one if he loses it, and it’s pretty much useless here.

Gritting his teeth, Tommy slips his compass over his head and drops it in, slamming the lid shut before he can change his mind. Already, the missing weight is making his heart race, but it’s safer in his e-chest.

Only then does Tommy go back out onto his platform and open the chest Grian left for him. 

There’s a dozen books in total, all with cracked leather covers and peeling titles involving Avians or something called the “dreaming realm”.

As Tommy shuffles through them, one particular book catches his eye. It’s a thin, white volume, the title so faded Tommy can’t actually tell what it says. That’s not what makes him take notice, though; there’s a symbol on the cover, in dark purple ink. 

It’s a long rectangle, like a nether portal, but it’s broken at the bottom left and top right corners. It feels… familiar, somehow, like Tommy’s seen it before.

Tommy’s puzzled, but he’s also exhausted, so he puts all the books in one of his random chests and collapses onto his bed. Before he falls asleep, he takes out his comm and sets a timer for two hours.

 _It’s better than not sleeping at all,_ Tommy reasons, before his eyes fall closed and he gives in to the soft embrace of darkness.


	17. Pesky Bird

Tommy’s alarm wakes him up like it’s supposed to, making him groggily sit up to turn it off. His shoulders and wings are still sore, so he gets up to grab one of the potions that Stress had given him when he’d left her care.

He’s searching through his multi-coloured jumble of shulker boxes and chest when he hears the  _ thump  _ of someone landing and reaches for his axe.

“Good morning!”

Tommy swings on instinct and almost puts his axe through Grian’s chest. Luckily, the Avian’s able to dodge.

“Woah! How about we get a little less slashy-slashy, please,” Grian says, chuckling. Tommy silently puts his axe away and continues looking for the potions. After a moment, Grian asks, “I thought Bdubs said you guys were going to bed?”

“I’m just… grabbing something,” Tommy says flatly. Then, he remembers Stress’s shulker box had been pink and hops up to reach where he’d placed it on the ceiling for the hell of it. The movement makes his shoulders protest, and he bites his lip.

“Something wrong, Toms?” Grian asks, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Tommy snaps, reaching up again to grab the potion, balanced on his tippy toes. 

“Whatcha grabbing?” Grian asks, watching Tommy grasp the regen potion by the tips of his fingers. He somehow manages to look amused and concerned at the same time. “And why don’t you just fly up?”

Tommy sighs, then lets the potion bottle slip out of his grip and settle back in the shulker before climbing down. “I fucked up my wings flying in that stupid glider position for too long and I was trying to get a regen potion Stress gave me.”

“Ooh, wing cramps,” Grian says sympathetically. “Yeah, those suck. You want me to grab it?”

Tommy nods, and Grian quickly flies up to the ceiling and retrieves the bottle.

“Thanks, G-man.” As Tommy takes the potion from him, he catches Grian glancing at his wrapped wrist. “What?”

“Is your wrist still bothering you?” Grian asks, clearly concerned. “I heard that it was infected, and if-”

“Nah. I’m just using the bandages as support.” 

It was a half-truth, really; the bandages  _ are _ a reassuring pressure when his wrist occasionally throbs, like when he swings his pick a bit too hard, but Tommy also just can’t be bothered to take them off. 

Regardless, this seems to put Grian at ease. “Oh. Alright, as long as you change them, I guess. Uh, I came over because I accidentally gave you the single book my friend said you couldn’t have. Mind if I grab it?”

Tommy shakes his head as he uncorks the bottle. “They’re in the chest by the… purple shulker, I think.” Then, a thought hits him. “But you said you thought I would be in bed.”

Grian freezes for a moment, then says, “I figured you’d probably be awake. You look like you haven’t been sleeping a lot.”

“What the fuck are you-”

Tommy cuts himself off, as part of the conversation he’d had with Grian alone on the grass comes back to him.

_ “When I first became friends with Mumbo and then when I later joined Hermitcraft, I- well, I acted a lot like you.” _

“Oh.” Tommy looks down at the floor. It’s awkward now, the silence between them, and Grian must be remembering that conversation, too, because Tommy glances up once and catches the other Avian’s gaze, full of pity that makes Tommy's stomach churn. 

Finally, Grian closes the chest and sighs. “Look, I get it, alright? And I’m not going to ask why- that’s your business- as long as you find some way to get enough sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Tommy snaps immediately. “I don’t need people worrying about me.”

Grian sighs again. “How about this, then: as long as you don’t have phantoms spawning, I’ll leave you alone. But,” he says, holding a hand up to stop Tommy’s protests, “if I catch phantoms spawning, we’ll need to work something out. Trust me, you may think you’re able to go without sleep, but you’re not. No one is, and I’d rather you not learn that the hard way, alright?”

Tommy rubs his eyes and takes a sip of his potion to buy him time to think. It’s better than Ghostbur nagging him and then tattling to Dream, at least, and this two-hours-at-a-time system should work. “Fine.”

“Wonderful. I’m glad we understand each other.” Grian holds out his hand, and Tommy shakes it. 

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Grian says, grinning. “I need your help pulling a prank tomorrow.”

Tommy perks right up. “What are we doing?”

“You’ll see. Now get some sleep!”

With that, Grian heads out, hopping off the platform and sailing away. Tommy watches him go, finishing his potion and sighing in relief when the regeneration deals with his sore muscles, then checks the chest to see which book the other Avian took.

Sure enough, the white book with the broken rectangle is gone.

Tommy sets his timer for two hours and collapses, wakes up and re-sets his timer, then falls back asleep. 

By the time the sun’s up the next morning and Grian lands on the platform, Tommy’s… well, he wouldn’t call it rested, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to fall over.

“What’s the pla- why the fuck do you have a parrot head on?”

That’s not the only strange thing he’s wearing. Instead of his usual enchanted netherite, Grian seems to have donned plain red leather armour. He looks exactly like the bird he got his wings from, which was probably the point.

Grian plants his hands on his hips and proclaims, “You have been recruited by… PESKY BIRD!”

Grian tosses Tommy a chicken head and some white leather armour, which he immediately puts on while trying to stifle his laughter. “Your first mission: help me build chicken bombs inside Impulse’s base!”

Tommy tenses in the middle of putting his good armour away. Impulse is one of the players who helped him, and according to Grian, he had a strong enough wither farm to sell beacons dirt-cheap. Did he really want to mess with-

Grian quickly slips the parrot head off and gently touches Tommy’s shoulders. “Trust me, Impulse’ll be fine with it. And if he’s not, well, it wasn’t us…”

He puts the parrot head back on and crows, “IT WAS THE MEN IN THE PARROT AND CHICKEN COSTUMES!”

Tommy finds himself smiling, though Grian can’t see it. 

“Now c’mon,” Grian says, tugging him out onto the platform. “I came out of retirement to train you in the ways of causing chaos, and you’d better not squander the chance, Poultry Boy!”

“Yes sir!” Tommy replies, saluting him, and the two launch themselves into the sky.

They stop by Grian’s base to load Tommy up with eggs and a few shulkers of white concrete and scaffolding, then head to the Shopping District.

Impulse’s base is huge, like all the others Tommy’s seen so far- a massive, pyramid-like structure rising out of the ocean made of white and gray concrete.

“I pulled some strings and convinced Zedaph and Tango to take Impulse for a trip,” Grian explains as the two fly in. “We’ve got the entire day to absolutely cover his base with our feathered friends.”

“What are your orders, Pesky Bird?” Tommy asks, standing at attention like Wilbur taught him to.

“First, you see that big, nice empty space in the middle there?”

Tommy nods.

“What we’re going to do there,” Grian says, “is build a couple eggs and fill them with chickens. See, he deals with all the loose chickens, goes to break the eggs, and then,  _ boom! _ Even more chickens.”

“Should I block off the entrance so the chickens don’t run away?” Tommy asks, gesturing to the square arch that led out to the sea.

“Absolutely. Brilliant idea, Poultry Boy.” Grian pulls out the shulker full of building supplies and sets it down. “Now, let’s get to work!”

Grian shows Tommy the basic shape of the eggs and how high they should be, then leaves him alone to build while Grian himself spawns chickens everywhere. Occasionally, he’ll look up and tell Tommy to move a block this way or that, but for the most part, he seems satisfied.

Tommy’s not relaxed, but he is having fun. Besides, if the server can have a full-scale prank war, then this is nothing. 

It’s also a good test to see how the hermits actually prank each other- they seem so disturbed by everything that comes out of Tommy’s mouth about the SMP that it’s obvious they’re a lot more peaceful and/or stupid and/or too scared of each other to do anything. There are different rules here, and if Tommy gets to learn them by being a nuisance, he’s all for it.

When there are three big eggs floating above the main ‘room’ of Impulse’s base, all suspiciously clucking, Grian calls Tommy down and hands him even more eggs. These, however, have all been renamed.

_ FEAR THE BIRDS _

_ THERE IS A NEW POULTRY MAN _

_ ALL HAIL POULTRY BOY _

_ PESKY BIRD _

“So,” Tommy says, as he starts spawning in the chickens, “Poultry Boy’s not exactly a new thing, is it?”

“I started doing this last season, actually, under the name Poultry Man,” Grian chuckles. “I had an entire secret base and everything. It was an amazing stress reliever, let me tell you.”

“Why are you bringing him back now?” Tommy questions, hopping onto a ledge to fill it with more birds.

Grian shrugs. “In the name of causing chaos, really. You lit up when Mumbo talked about me stealing people’s doors, and I thought,  _ well, I’m teaching him how to fly anyway. Might as well teach the new kid how to be a complete pain in the behind while staying on brand. _ ”

“So, you’re like, the prankster of the server, then,” Tommy says.

Grian laughs, for some reason. “We’re  _ all  _ pranksters, Tommy. I’m just usually the guy who kicks things off in terms of server-wide stuff. I mean, I started a civil war last season-”

“A  _ civil war?  _ Holy shit, what did you even do?” Tommy asks, astounded. Then, he added, “Uh, what’s a season?”

“Oh, we wipe the server and start over with a new seed. We save everything, of course, but it gives us a chance to change things up and even add new people,” Grian explains. “As for the war, well, you see, Doc- I don’t think you’ve met him yet- had this thing called the Stock Exchange, and he had a bush, and I might have added some decorations to said bush in the form of my own face, and it all went downhill from there.”

“You guys had an entire civil war because you decorated a guy’s bush with your face?” Tommy says, skeptical.

“Well, you see, there had been a bit of a prank war going on, and, uh, the bush-decorating may have occurred during the heist when Tango and I broke into his vault, hid all his diamonds inside said vault, then replaced the diamonds with our faces.” Grian clarifies. Then, he adds, “Now that I think about it, Iskall and I started the prank war by trapping Mumbo while he was AFK…”

“Jesus Christ, you guys don’t half-ass anything, do you?” 

  
  


Tommy and Grian stand on top of the two-block wall they’d built to keep the chickens in and admire their handiwork. The green glass floor is covered with eggshells, the entire place smells like damp feathers, and the three white eggs are impossible to miss.

“Job well done, Poultry Boy,” Grian says, clapping Tommy on the shoulder. “Now, let’s get out of here before Impulse comes back.”

They take off and use the Shopping District portal, surprising a few of the other hermits but not stopping to say hi. Soon, they’re flying above the Nether, rising and falling in the thermals as the biome beneath the bedrock changes.

“Hey, G-man?”

“Yeah, Toms?”

Tommy takes off his chicken head and smiles at Grian. “Thanks.”

Grian removes his parrot head and grins back. “No problem, Tommy.”

“Who are we hitting next?” Tommy asks, storing the head in his inventory.

Grian’s grin grows impossibly wider. “Well, we’ll wait a few days, but I really enjoyed Mumbo’s idea of him just  _ waking up one day with my doors and my stairs missing. _ ”

“What do you want me to do in the meantime?” Tommy questions.

Grian shrugs the best he can in mid-flight and replies, “Read those books, learn how to dreamwalk. You did say you had talked to your brother, right?”

And just like that, the warm, cozy feeling that had been growing in Tommy’s chest withers and dies, leaving him feeling cold and exposed. Instinctively, he goes to pull Wilbur’s old coat closed, but his hands meet leather armour instead- he’d left the coat at his tower when they set out that morning. He feels tears start to gather, and pushes all his emotions down into a tight little ball that he shoves down somewhere near his heart.

“My brother’s dead,” Tommy says flatly. “I was talking to his ghost.”

Grian’s silent for a long moment. Then, he says, “I’m sorry, Tommy. I didn’t-”

“Yeah, I know you didn’t know.” 

Tommy inwardly winces at how cold he sounds, and tries to rectify it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have snapped.”

“It’s ok,” Grian says quietly. “That just wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”

The fun, mischievous energy of successfully pulling off a prank is gone, and they fly the rest of the way to their bases in tense silence.


	18. Ding-a-ling

Two days later, Tommy chews on the end of his pencil as he tries to read one of the books Grian had left him with an empty notebook at his side. He’s trying a studying method Techno had taught him- summarizing as you read.

**_Dreams are not, as human scientists say, simply hallucinations caused by our unconscious minds. Dreams, as all Avians know, are in fact fragments of a person’s consciousness, and result from a troubled mind and uneasy spirit. However, it is possible for ghosts to cause nightmares in their attempts to speak to the living._ **

“No shit, Sherlock,” Tommy mutters, as he jots down  _ dreams= mind bits  _ and  _ ghosts are asshats. _

**_Dreamwalking is achieved when an Owl Avian successfully detaches their spirit from their body and enters another’s mind. To achieve this and return to their own body without injury, these three conditions must be met._ **

**_The dreamwalker must be in a bed, actively setting their spawnpoint and providing them with a link to the realm between life and death that they need to traverse to reach their destination;_ **

**_They must be wearing a moonstone to ensure they get back to their body if the person they’re visiting suddenly wakes up;_ **

**_And they must have met the person they’re visiting in the real world._ **

_ Steps to dreamwalk: become ghost, be in bed, wear shiny rock, and know the guy,  _ Tommy writes, and goes to turn the page. 

Then, he notices some faded words in the margin.

It’s not in English, he knows that much; in fact, it looks like the stupid enchanting table language that his brother’s so proud of knowing. Not all of it is legible, but Tommy leans in close and copies what is into his notebook.

𝙹∴ꖎ ᔑ⍊╎ᔑリᓭ ᔑ∷ᒷ ᒲ𝙹∷ᒷ ꖎ╎ꖌᒷꖎ|| ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ʖᒷ ∴ᔑℸ ̣ ᓵ

𝙹⎓ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ╎∷ !¡𝙹∴ᒷ∷ᓭ

Then, his comm buzzes.

_ <Grian>: I need a hand _

_ <Grian>: I seem to have been invaded by cows and loud dinging machines _

_ <Grian>: we must strike back! _

Tommy hesitates for a moment. It had been awkward when he’d waved goodbye to the other Avian on the Nether roof, and he wasn’t quite sure how Grian would act.

_ <Grian>: Poultry Boy! _

But he was tired of being alone.

_ <TommyInnit>: on my way, sir! _

“Holy shit.”

Tommy can barely hear himself think over the repeated ringing of bells and the loud mooing of the cattle crammed into the bottom part of Grian’s mansion. On the fence keeping them inside is a series of signs that read:

_ Pesky Bird- this is your one warning. Do not corrupt the young Poultry Boy any further. We do not need another prank war, thank you very much. _

“I think Xisuma wanted to nip this in the bud this time around,” Grian says, chuckling.

Tommy feels the beginnings of ice-cold panic and fear and stutters out, “M-maybe we should stop. We don’t want to piss him off, right?”

Grian laughs, but he’s gentle as he wraps a wing around Tommy’s shoulder. “Remember what I said about how the Turf War wasn’t real? This is the same thing. X isn’t annoyed; in fact, I’d say he’s probably sitting back and enjoying the show. Well, he might be a little annoyed, but he’s not going to actually do anything. Actually, yeah, he’s probably annoyed, because we just finished the Turf War. But we’re just having fun, and as long as we’re reasonable, everyone else will, too.”

Tommy pulls away from Grian and takes one, two, three deep breaths, then forces cheerfulness into his voice as he asks, “Do you think it was Xisuma who left the cows and the- whatever the fuck is making that noise?”

“Keep it family-friendly, please,” Grian says. “And no, absolutely not. For one thing, I don’t think X would leave  _ that.” _

Grian points up, at a large sign Tommy hadn’t noticed before made of yellow and black concrete.

**_ZIT_ **

“Apparently, Impulse called for backup,” Grian says grimly.

“Who’s  _ ZIT?”  _ Tommy questions.

“Zedaph, Impulse, Tango. It’s what they call their little trio,” Grian explains. 

“That is the dumbest team name I’ve ever heard.”

“In any case,” Grian continues, as if Tommy hadn’t said anything, “We need to deal with these cows and the noise machines. And then…”

A smile that could only be described as slightly crazy and possibly evil spread across Grian’s face. “We choose our next target.”

They get rid of all the cows and store the beef and leather for later, then start a hunt through the mansion’s nooks and crannies for all the noisemakers.

There’s a  _ lot. _

“If I ever have to hear another bell,” Tommy grumbles, dismantling another observer, “I’m going to go _ fucking insane.” _

“Tommy, I thought we talked about using language like that.”

Tommy jumps at the sound of Mumbo’s voice right behind him and spins around, only to find Grian with a huge grin on his face.

“Honestly, it’s just not how we do things,” Grian sighs, and it’s actually almost unnerving to hear Mumbo’s voice come out of his mouth. “Language like that is absolute pants.”

Tommy lets himself match Grian’s grin, just for a moment, before falling back into his usual neutral expression. “Does he actually say  _ pants _ ?”

“Yes, yes he does,” Grian replies in his own voice. 

Tommy nods, then asks, “What do you want me to do with the stuff from these bell-ringers or whatever the fuck-”

“Language,” Grian reminds him, with a slight grin.

“Whatever the shit-”

“Now you’re just doing it on purpose.”

Tommy glares at him and blurts out, “Whatever the shit-shat-fuck-bitch-cunt-dick-”

_ “TOMMY!” _

Both the Avians jump at the shout and peek out into the main room, where the real Mumbo is standing and looking absolutely  _ scandalized. _

“Oh, hello! What brings you here?” Grian asks cheerfully.

“What on earth is going on?” Mumbo asks, bewildered. “Why does it smell like… like cows in here?” 

“No clue,” Grian says flippantly. “Team ZIT seems to have gotten it into their heads that I’m back on my Poultry Man shenanigans, which I can assure you is absolutely untrue.”

Mumbo crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, but Tommy can see the twinkle in his eye and realizes that Mumbo’s trying not to laugh. “Did they leave the signs about this being ‘Pesky Bird’s’ only warning, as well?”

“No, that was probably X.”

“Then-” Mumbo lets out a small chuckle. “Then why do you think this is in retaliation for Poultry Man?”

“Call it a hunch,” Grian replies.

“I see.” Mumbo turns to Tommy and grins. “Did Grian tell you about last season?”

“You mean how he started a war? Yeah, he might have mentioned it,” Tommy says, shrugging. Then, “Seriously, G-Man, where do you want me to put these?”

“Hmm.” Grian squeezes out of the little nook and walks over to his wall of chests, and Tommy follows. While Grian paces, looking for his redstone chest, Tommy absent-mindedly tries to scratch his wings. There’s a spot he just can’t reach, and it’s been driving him crazy all day.

“Itchy?” Mumbo asks casually.

Tommy quickly snatches his hand away and shoves it into his pocket. “I’m fine.”

Mumbo hesitates for a moment, then buries his face in his hands. Voice muffled by his palms, he yells, “Grian, we forgot to explain preening!”

Grian looks up so fast he bangs his head on the open chest. “He doesn’t know how to preen?”

“What the  _ fuck  _ is preening?”

“He had his entire existence re-written and his memory wiped,” Mumbo says, “I think he just might have forgotten.”

“I’m right here, you know, and again, what the  _ fuck-” _

“Preening,” Grian interrupts, “is what we call it when we clean and straighten out our feathers. Nothing too extensive, no soap or anything, just getting the dirt out and brushing everything back into place.”

“And, no offence, but you do look slightly… raggedy,” Mumbo says hesitantly.

“Gee, thanks,” Tommy replies flatly, and it takes all of his self-control not to add,  _ dickhead _ . “Well, just tell me how to do it and I’ll  _ preen  _ when I get home.”

Grian and Mumbo glance at each other, and Grian rubs the back of his head and sighs, stepping fully away from the chests.

“Avians can’t actually fully preen themselves,” Grian explains slowly. “You can’t reach the back, so you have to let someone else do it for you.”

“Yeah, like, Iskall and I help out Grian all the time,” Mumbo says. 

Tommy frantically shakes his head. “A-actually, I’m fine. I’m good. Not- not itchy at all.”

No. No, no, no, no, no, he’s  _ not  _ having to rely on anyone, or having anyone help him, he can do it himself, he needs to learn how to do it himself because they’re just going to kick him out again and leave him alone like everybody else-

“Tommy, stop.”

Tommy flinches as Grian gently takes him by the shoulder and sits him down on the wooden floor, and then again when Mumbo sits down beside them to Tommy’s left, so he can see him.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t like people touching you,” Grian says, ever so gentle, “But you looked like you were starting to freak out a bit, there.”

“I’m fine,” Tommy repeats, hiding his shaking hands in the pockets of Wilbur’s old coat. He doesn’t miss the look that Grian and Mumbo give each other as they sit in uncomfortable silence.

“How about this,” Mumbo finally says. “I’ll do Grian’s wings while he does yours, alright?”

“And we’ll stop as soon as you want to,” Grian assures him. “But you need to take care of yourself, and preening is part of that.”

Tommy tenses up, then lets out a long, shuddering sigh. “Fine. But I want to do it outside.”

“That’s alright with me,” Grian says, and when Tommy looks at Mumbo, the redstoner nods.

They sit out on the front steps of Grian’s mansion, in the warm sunlight. Tommy sits on the step below Grian, who sits on the step below Mumbo, both with their wings half-spread.

“Is it alright if I start, Tommy?” Grian asks gently.

Tommy takes a deep breath, lets it all out, and murmurs, “Alright.”

Grian explains what exactly he’s doing as he goes along, which feather he’s just put into place and why it’s important, but Tommy stops listening after a minute. Grian’s touch is gentle and soothing as he carefully combs through Tommy’s plumage, constantly talking and reminding him what he’s doing, and Tommy finds himself slowly melting into the sun-warmed stone stairs. He’s tired, he’s been tired for a while, and Grian’s nice. He likes Grian, with his weird mimicry talent and his affinity for pranks. Grian's alright.

He props his chin up on his hand as his eyes start to drift closed.

“You’re not falling asleep on us, are you?” Grian asks, good-naturedly.

Tommy has enough time to mumble something along the lines of “Nah”, before he does exactly that.


	19. Towers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alright, so, this chapter gets pretty heavy towards the end. TW for self-loathing and depression.

_Hello, Tommy._

Tommy scrambles backwards across the rough netherrack, away from Dream and the bloody axe and that horrible, horrible mask that seems to be staring into his soul. 

Dream cocks his head at him, and asks, _where are you?_

“No, no, I’m not- I’m not telling you-”

Dream’s head keeps rotating as Tommy backs away. _Do you know where your body is, Tommy?_

Tommy trips over something, he doesn’t know what, he can’t see anything behind him, but he falls down and down and down and suddenly he’s in the overworld, flat on his back, staring up at a dirt tower that stretches to build limit as Dream stands over him, a foot on his chest to keep him in place. He can feel the anger radiating off of the admin in red-hot waves, a stark contrast to the cool water that’s flowing under him and soaking his clothes.

 _YOU THOUGHT I’D LET YOU DIE THAT EASILY?_ Dream roars. _HOW COULD YOU BE SO MEAN, TOMMY? I’M YOUR FRIEND!_

He tries to protest, he really does, but the foot on his chest is crushing his lungs and the sensation only increases as Dream leans down.

 _I’m adding a condition,_ Dream growls, and Tommy feels ice-cold terror and tries to throw him off as he reaches for Tommy’s right wrist. _You can’t build anything, either._

“No no no no no please I won’t do it again I swear please just let me go please I’m sorry I’m sorry I’M SORRY-”

But Dream’s dragging him upright towards a stray stone block, axe already in hand, and Tommy opens his mouth to scream-

“WAKE UP!”

Tommy shoots upright, hands clamped over his mouth, shaking so hard his vision wavers, and he flinches when someone gently grabs his shoulders.

“Easy, easy,” Grian says, in a low, calm voice. “You’re ok. It was just a bad dream.”

Tommy flinches again and pulls away. They’re still on the steps of Grian’s mansion, but the sun is just beginning to kiss the horizon, and Mumbo is nowhere to be seen.

“I-I-'' Tommy swallows, forces his face into his usual neutral expression, and stands. “I should head home.”

“Tommy, just take a moment to breathe-”  
Tommy ignores Grian, and throws himself into the sky without a second thought. He’s trembling so much he almost falls into the little lake before he manages to catch an updraft.

Tommy falls back asleep on his own bed, trying to hold the image of Technoblade’s face in his mind as his eyes drift closed. He needs to talk to him, ask him what he should do.

His vision flashes white.

“Oh, hello, TommyInnit!”

Tommy opens his eyes and stares, open-mouthed, at the room he finds himself in.

It’s like a giant item sorter, full of hoppers and chests and the blue glow of sea lanterns set into a stone brick floor, that stretches up and up and up to the point that Tommy swears he sees clouds before he sees the ceiling. Multi-coloured balls of fire float through the air, drawn towards the figure kneeling in the center of the room.

They’re tall, with skin the colour of the night sky and hair that flows like a galaxy and six arms, all sorting the orbs into different hoppers as their snow-white wings occasionally flap to send a breeze to help a stray ball of fire. They radiate pure power, and Tommy takes a step back as they turn to look at him with eyes as black as the Void.

“Oh, don’t be frightened,” they say quickly. “I know I’m a bit much for you mortals, but this is the easiest form for me to use.”

“What- how- where am I?” Tommy stammers. 

“This,” the figure says, spreading their topmost arms, “is the Tower of Dreams!”

Tommy glances around the room- no, hall- again. “And… why am I here?”

“Well, all Owl Avians have to pass through my hall to dreamwalk. I’ve met so many over the years… one of your great-great-great-grandmother was an Owl, you know. These things usually run in the family. Oh, I’ve been waiting to meet another one of your bloodline…” the figure blinks, then smiles. “Ah, where are my manners? I am called ↸∷ᒷᔑᒲ⊣⚍╎↸ᒷ∷, but to my dreamwalkers, I am simply Guide.”

“ _Your_ dreamwalkers?” Tommy protests. “I read half a dozen books about dreamwalking and shit, and at no point was a giant with six arms mentioned!” 

Guide smiles and pats Tommy on the head with one giant hand. “You can’t believe everything you read. Honestly, those probably weren’t even written by Owls. Did you honestly think that you mortals were just able to up and leave your bodies behind, and go anywhere they want?”

Tommy looks down at his shoes. “Yeah, kinda.”

Guide laughs, a deep, hearty sound. Then, they explain, “The books are half-right. Dreams are stray bits of the purest parts of a person’s soul, that float into my tower looking for answers. Owl Avians, if they are born at the right time, can drift as an entire being, but they always end up here. I can then connect them with whoever they want to talk to and make sure they get back to their bodies in one piece.”

“Like when they used to have operators on those shitty old phones,” Tommy says, sitting down on the floor. Then, he registers the second part of that sentence. “What do you mean, _back in one piece?_ ”

Guide puts a pulsing orange orb into a hopper on their right, and shakes their head. “It is… taxing, for an Owl to dreamwalk. Your moonstone binds you to your body, yes, but it is a very unstable connection as is, and if you are not wearing one, you will most certainly die.”

Tommy tries to subtly check if the moonstone he borrowed from Grian is still around his neck, and breathes a silent sigh of relief when it is.

“Your soul is very fragile,” Guide continues. “Even with the moonstone, you can lose parts of yourself, if I was not guiding you.”  
Tommy’s mouth is dry as he asks, “And what happens then? I-if you lose bits of your soul?”

“What is left returns to your body, and you live out your days as a mindless husk,” Guide says darkly, “As what’s left slowly dissolves into the Void.”

Tommy gulps, and quickly nods. Then, a thought strikes him. “But why-”

“Why hasn’t an Owl ever mentioned me before?” Guide finishes. “Because I told them not to. It is better that most mortals live out their lives never even knowing I exist.”

Tommy nods once more.

“Now then,” Guide says brightly, “Who was it you wanted to see?”

Technoblade’s dream is taking place on the snowy tundra as Tommy steps into it, a small wood and cobble house before him with smoke rising from the chimney. Techno himself is chopping wood by the stable built into the side, Carl watching as he munches on hay.

“Wow, Tech,” Tommy says, leaning against the wall as if walking up on an armed Technoblade doesn’t scare him at all. The nickname feels like ice on his tongue. “Even in your sleep, you don’t stop working.”

Techno freezes, and looks up from the log he’s splitting to lock eyes with his little brother.

With a _thud,_ he drives his axe into the chopping block and turns to face Tommy, and Tommy’s surprised to see something resembling regret on his brother’s face before Techno regains control over his emotions.

“You’re here,” Techno grunts. “Guess you finally got the dreamwalking figured out, then.”

“Yep. Not to brag or nothing, but I’m a natural at it-”

Tommy cuts himself off as Techno looms over him, and shrinks back. He’s expecting a lecture, to be screamed at for being stupid, or for Techno to start throwing punches.

Instead, Techno engulfs him in his giant arms and warm cape and squeezes, hugging Tommy close to his chest.

It only lasts a few seconds, and then Techno pulls away and clears his throat. “I’m… Tommy, I’m so, so sorry for… well, not for blowing up L’Manberg, but for… how I acted when you were exiled.”

“You’re still a prick,” Tommy mutters.

“I’m _trying_ to be genuine here!” Techno snaps, and Tommy instantly steps back. He sees something unfamiliar and dark flash across Techno’s face for a moment, and Techno sighs.

“Let’s head inside.”

Techno’s house is cosy, despite the enderman in a boat by the fireplace who Techno introduces as Edward. Despite the fact that it’s just a dream, Techno still makes them tea.

“You look tired, Tommy,” Techno says, as they sit by the fire. 

“I’m fine. How’s…” Tommy hesitates, because he’s not sure who he wants to ask about first. Finally, after a long, quiet moment, he finishes, “How’re things?”

Techno takes a sip of tea and stares into the fire. “Phil’s been travelling between here and L’Manberg and Dream’s been popping up every so often, but it’s mostly quiet up here.”

Tommy flinches, and quickly glances at the door. _It’s a dream,_ he reminds himself. _He can’t be here._ “And how’s Tubbo?”

For some reason, this makes Techno tense up.

“He and Phil had a fight at your funeral. Mostly about how Phil didn’t have any right to feel sorry for himself, because he could have at least _tried_ to help, and how the entire thing was Tubbo’s fault, and it was just… a mess. But,” Techno shrugs, “Apparently it cleared the air. Phil asked me to stop trying to destroy L’Manberg, at least, and last I heard he was helping Tubbo build a new hall.”

Something dark and bitter swells in Tommy’s chest, and he mutters, “Good for them.”

It must come across in his voice, because Techno looks up from the fire and says, “What?”

“Well, it sounds like Phil’s finally realized Tubbo’s supposed to be part of the family,” Tommy snaps, the acrid taste of betrayal on his tongue. “Glad to see he noticed he actually had two more kids besides you and Wilbur.”

Techno’s silent for a moment, before something seems to click. “He was grieving-”

“So was I, but you’re the one he ran off to help,” Tommy spits. “You were always his favourite.”

“Do you think I honestly _wanted_ his help?” Techno shoots back. “After he killed my brother?”

“HE WAS MY BROTHER TOO!” Tommy cries. “Wilbur was the _one_ person who looked out for me! The _one person,_ Technoblade!”

“And I guess I don’t count as a person, then?” Techno snaps, drawing himself up to his full height. “I carried your _casket,_ Tommy. I watched as we buried you. That night I got your letter was one of the happiest moments of my life.”

“Why? Because you found out you weren’t as shit as a brother as you could have been?”

Tommy realizes the instant the words come out of his mouth that he’s crossed a line that he shouldn’t have, but it’s too late now. Techno glares at him, eyes full of malice and hurt.

“Get out of my dream,” Techno growls, and his netherite axe appears in his hand. _“Now.”_

Tommy backs up, eyes on the gleaming metal, and falls through the floor, down, down, down into the Tower of Dreams, where Guide only offers him a look of pity before they wave a hand.

His vision flashes white.

Tommy gasps awake and flails for a few moments before managing to get himself untangled from the bedding. His heart is practically beating out of his chest, and he curls in on himself as the realization of what he’s done hits him fully.

He’s fucked up. Techno had been happy to see him, but Tommy had fucked it up, just like he always fucks everything up, why does he ruin everything he touches?

Techno had even said everyone was happier without him, Phil and Tubbo were getting along, building in peace, probably not even worried about any looming wars because Tommy was gone and there was no one to piss off Dream, now. 

Tommy’s gone, and everyone’s better off without him.


	20. Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some TWs for this chapter: Self-loathing and depression. And this one gets heavy, so if these things are a touchy subject for you, don't feel bad about skipping this chapter- just take care of yourself.

Tommy lies in bed, staring up at the cobblestone ceiling. The sun had risen a while ago, but he hadn’t moved. It feels like there was a deep, heavy pit in his chest, somewhere near where his heart used to be, weighing him down.

He’s not even really that surprised. It just makes sense. No wonder no one had bothered to visit; hell, they had probably thrown a goddamn party after he'd been exiled. Tommy’s nothing but a problem, after all. He’s such a horrible person that even his own father doesn’t care that he’s dead. No one cares.

_ Does Dream care? _

Tommy shoves the thought away. Dream tried to kill him.

No, no, Dream was doing it for Tommy’s own good. Dream was trying to make him better, and Tommy was such a horrible person that he fought Dream. There’s no one to blame but himself.

But he was going to cut his hand off-

No, Dream was just trying to scare him, Dream wouldn’t have actually done it…

Right? 

Thoughts swirl in Tommy’s head as he traces the pattern of the cobble above him and shifts through every interaction, every little conversation he’s ever had with pretty much anyone, and feels the pit grow bigger.

“Hey, Tommy? Are you awake down there?”

Tommy doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to be around anyone, especially not Grian. How long will it take before the hermits realize what a horrible person he is? How long does he have before he gets exiled again, or worse?

“Tommy?”

He can hear Grian’s footsteps as the Avian walks down the stairs, but still can’t bring himself to move. He just lays there, staring up at the ceiling, as the footsteps get closer and closer to his bed.

Finally, there’s a soft  _ thud  _ as Grian sits down on the enderchest beside Tommy’s bed, and Tommy manages to turn his head towards him.

He’s expecting the pity that he sees on Grian’s face, but what he’s not expecting is the quiet, soft kindness as Grian asks, “Are you alright?”

Tommy simply stares at him for a moment, trying to figure out what to say, before he turns his gaze back to the ceiling and hopes Grian will take the hint.

No such luck.

“I’m going to take that as a no,” Grian murmurs. Then, he asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

Tommy shakes his head.

“Would it be alright if I stayed here?”

Tommy shrugs. A tiny part of his brain is screaming at him that he shouldn’t let Grian get so close, he’s just  _ asking  _ for a sword or axe to the face, but it’s drowned out by the fact that Tommy doesn’t really care anymore. 

After all, everyone already thinks he’s dead.

They stay like that for a while, Tommy staring up at the ceiling and Grian sitting on the enderchest, leaning against the wall. It’s quiet, with only the occasional sound of Grian’s comm going off to break the silence.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Grian asks quietly, at a little bit after noon according to Tommy’s internal clock.

Tommy shrugs. He hasn’t, but he’s also not really hungry.

Grian sighs. “I need a yes or no on that one, Toms. Please?”

Tommy shakes his head, and listens as Grian stands up and walks over to the chests under the windows. The use of the nickname makes him want to throw up, because he knows how these things go, how Grian will take that endearment and twist it to sting like poison once he realizes, once Tommy fucks up like he always does and gets himself killed or exiled, or thrown in prison, maybe, for a change of pace. 

God, why is he such a horrible person?

Tommy flinches a little when Grian taps his shoulder. “You need to sit up to eat. Don’t want you to choke, right?”

When Tommy doesn’t move, Grian sighs. Then, he gently pulls Tommy upright and sits down on the bed so Tommy can lean on him, wrapping a wing around his shoulder. It’s a bit awkward, since, even sitting down, Tommy’s taller than Grian, but it works.

The steak Grian passes Tommy tastes like ash, and the gentle kindness makes him want to cry. He’s going to mess up. He’s going to let them down, these people who have been nothing but nice to him, because that’s what always happens. It’d actually be easier if they’re just waiting for him to let his guard down before they tear him to pieces, because then they’ll never learn just how much of a horrible person-

Tommy only realizes he actually  _ is  _ crying when Grian uses his sweater sleeve to wipe away the tears trailing down his face.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, you need to stop thinking about it, ok? Just… get out of your own head for a little bit.”

Tommy takes a shuddering breath, and another, trying to focus on literally anything else, like how he should really have started on a bunker by now. 

But his mind keeps going in circles, and so he just stares at a random patch of cobblestone with an uneaten piece of steak in his hand.

“Alright, that’s it. C’mon, we’re going to my base for a nice big cup of tea. We should really get you a kettle…”

Tommy listens to Grian babble on as he pulls him upright and up the stairs, then tugs him into the air off of the platform.

Grian sits Tommy down on the wooden steps inside his base and throws a blanket over his shoulders, before busying himself with placing a large iron kettle on top of his furnace and retrieving two mugs from a shulker nearby. Tommy watches, not bothering to adjust the blanket as it slips down and catches on his wings, as Grian throws a tea bag into each mug and then sits down beside him to wait for the water to boil.

“Was it nightmares again?” Grian asks, tugging the blanket back up.

Tommy shakes his head.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the gears turning in Grian’s head, and sure enough, a few moments later, the Avian says, “You went dreamwalking.”

“Yeah.”

Tommy’s voice is quiet and scratchy. It’s the first time he’s spoken all day.

“I take it it didn’t go very well,” Grian says.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tommy replies, but there’s no fire in his voice. Just quiet resignation.

The kettle whistles, and Grian stands. As he pours the water into the mugs, he assures Tommy, “It’s alright if you don’t, it’s your business, but just- I’m here to talk if you change your mind.”

Tommy nods, and tries not to wonder how long Grian will actually mean it.


	21. Fire and Ice

Tommy heads home when the sun starts to set, despite Grian trying to convince him to stay. Regardless, he leaves with a stack and a half of steak from the cows that “team ZIT” had herded into Grian’s base, which he puts in a random chest by his furnace. Instead of sleeping, however, he spends the night ferrying lava from the Nether into a hastily-dug pit in his basement and turning it into obsidian. 

And if he’s a little  _ too  _ careless about drops of lava burning his fingers, a little too hastily to dig up the scorching-hot blocks without worrying about the spikes of pain, a little careless about the sharp edges, it’s fine. 

Tommy’s fine.

As the hours tick by, and Tommy’s inventory starts to fill, he slips into a kind of trance. The thoughts in his head are muted, and become impossible to hear over the rhythmic sound of pick meeting obsidian and the loud  _ hiss  _ of cooling lava as water soaks his shoes.

There’s no way to tell time in the windowless, torch-lit basement, and all Tommy knows is that he’s refilled the pit too many times to count and almost has five stacks of obsidian when he hears someone knock on his front door. Quickly, he shoves the obsidian into a chest and heads upstairs.

He only opens the door a crack at first, peeking out. Stress and Iskall are outside, waiting.

“Hey, Tommy! What are you up to?” Iskall asks, smiling.

Tommy steps outside, closing the door behind him, and shrugs. “Nothing, really.”

Before he can say anything else, though, Stress gasps and grabs his left hand, palm-up. “Tommy, you’re bleeding!”

“Huh?” Tommy looks down, confused, and yes, there are little cuts all over his hand. “Oh. Yeah, I was mining obsidian-”

Stress snatches his right wrist, frowning when she sees the bandages, and examines his hand. “Are these… lava burns?”

“Like I said, mining obsidian,” Tommy says, guarded, and tries to pull away.

Stress furrows her eyebrows, and Tommy can tell she’s not happy. Holding onto his wrist with one hand, she dugs through her inventory until she pulls out a roll of bandages.

“I’m fine, really,” Tommy tries to say, as Stress tugs him down to sit on his front step and unwraps the dirt-stained bandages on his right wrist, exposing a wide, raised scar that circles halfway around Tommy’s wrist. He can see her frown, but she says nothing as she re-wraps it and continues up to wrap his palm. When Stress is done, he waits. 

He doesn’t know  _ what  _ he’s waiting for, though.

“Can I see the other one, please?” Stress asks quietly. Tommy holds out his left hand and stares at his shoes- which used to belong to yet another hermit- while she wraps that one, too.

Finally, Stress sighs and ruffles Tommy's hair. “Try to be a bit more careful around lava and the like, alright? I’d rather not have to keep bandaging you up every time I visit.”

Tommy nods, but a pit’s formed in his stomach. He doesn’t need their pity, and he definitely doesn’t need to go and make himself a burden, because burdens are annoying when you don’t really want them around-

“I can take care of myself,” Tommy mutters, cutting himself off. He stuffs his hands back into his pockets and tries to ignore the sting.

There’s a short, awkward silence, until Iskall clears his throat and asks, “Are you planning a build? Maybe getting started on a mega base?” 

“I’m not a builder. I don’t do that fancy sh-”

“Watch your language,” Stress reminds him.

-sssstuff,” Tommy finishes.

Iskall glances up at the cobblestone-and-granite tower, and Tommy can see the usual  _ oh-my-god-that’s-ugly  _ look before Iskall says, “Can I make a suggestion?”

Tommy winces internally. “Sure.”

Iskall leads him and Stress over to the side and far enough away that he can point. “If I was building this, I would add a bit of depth to the windows- like some stairs or something, you know?- just to break up the flatness a bit, if that makes sense. And, ah, don’t fill it in with clear glass.”

Tommy glances at him. He had noticed that all the hermits he had met built with tinted glass, but he had put it down as them being builders and all over the fancy shit. “Why?”

“Cause you won’t be able to see it,” Iskall explains, with a slight grin. “It’s an Avian thing, or so Grian says. Something about how your guys’ eyes work? Anyway, it’s not uncommon to see Grian fly face-first into a window, though we do tell him if we’re working with the stuff…”

Stress snorted. “It’s kind of hilarious, actually. You just see him flying in and then  _ bonk!  _ Bug on a windshield. _ ” _

“But I could see the windows in the Town Hall, and they were clear,” Tommy argues.

“You were still human at that point, Tommy. X and Grian hadn’t removed the re-write on your code yet,” Iskall reminds him. 

Then, their communicators buzz- or at least Stress’ and Tommy’s do. Iskall just blinks, and the gem in his robotic eye glows slightly brighter.

“I have got my comm linked up,” Iskall explains at Tommy’s questioning glance. “Don’t worry, we’re doing it with yours, too.”

“Fuck yeah.” Tommy grins, then checks the public chat.

_ <Grian> experienced kinetic energy _

_ <MumboJumbo> f _

_ <Bdouble100> what happened!? _

_ <ImpulseSV> oh no!!!!! _

_ <ImpulseSV> im sorry grian we forgot to tell you _

_ <TangoTek> we put up a glass wall in impie’s base to stop it from getting egged again _

_ <ImpulseSV> i forgot you were coming over this morning, sorry!!! _

_ <Grian> its okay  _

_ <Grian> can you grab my stuff for me pls? _

_ <ImpulseSV> sure _

_ <XisumaVoid> well this is an eventful morning _

_ <XisumaVoid> now who built this giant rocket thing in the Cowmercial District? _

_ <XisumaVoid> it looks like the button 2.0 or something _

Tommy feels panic start to take hold in his chest as he reads Xisuma’s message, trying to decipher it. “W-w-what does he mean, the button?”

Iskall starts to respond, maybe he does, but Tommy can’t hear him over the suddenly screaming voices in his head and he’s trapped and the underground room is too small and Wilbur’s showing him what it is and what he plans to do and Wilbur’s hand is hovering over the button and there’s something red and dangerous in his brother’s eyes  _ and Wilbur is slumped against Phil with his own sword sticking out of his back and Tommy’s standing on the edge of the crater that was just the nation he fought so hard to save and Techno is screaming at him as he crushes Tommy’s necklace with the heel of his boot- _

Tommy’s communicator crashes to the ground and he’s launching himself into the sky before he even knows what he’s doing but he knows, he knows he can’t stay here. He needs to run, he needs to find somewhere to hide where they’ll never find him and where there’s no more stupid buttons that explode into plumes of smoke and take people down with them and leave broken craters behind that fill with regret and scummy rainwater.

Tommy flies for a long, long time. He’s not sure where he’s headed, exactly, not sure of anything, and he’s cursing himself for not building a bunker sooner, but he stays in the air, high, high above the clouds. No other player besides Grian can breathe up here, and Tommy’s got a decent head start on him. If the hermits even decide to try and chase him.

Which they won’t, Tommy is sure; they’ve known him for a little over a week, that’s all. They’re probably more than happy to see him go.

But he can’t risk it. Won’t risk it.

So he flies, and flies, and flies, thoughts as loud as church bells and as painful as poison-tipped arrows, as it begins to snow and he’s soon soaked clean through and shivering, until his wings turn numb and give out in the middle of the night and he almost crashlands in a tundra biome.

The snow’s become a blizzard down on the ground, and Tommy can’t see five feet in front of him. The wind claws at him with icy talons, slicing his face and grabbing at his wings as Tommy pulls Wilbur’s coat tighter around him. He can’t stay here; he needs to get off the ground.

He tries, he really does, spreading his wet (and cold, oh god, was he ever cold) wings wide and jumping into the air, but the wind grabs them and slams him back down into the sharp, prickly snow and blows him into a tree trunk before he can get back on his feet.

Something goes  _ crack,  _ and Tommy cries out only to have the sound torn away before he can even hear it himself. The pain’s barely there, though, and part of Tommy’s brain is telling him that that’s not a good thing, but he’s just relieved that he’s not hurting too much.

He struggles upright, wings dragging in the snow, and tries to get his thoughts together. 

Shelter. He needs shelter.

With numb, frozen fingers, he plops down about a dozen dirt blocks to form a small hut, blocking out the wind, and places a torch on the block in front of him. It doesn’t give off much heat, but Tommy sits down in the small amount of snow left in his dirt box and holds his hands to the flame. 

His eyes start to drift closed, and he shakes his head to wake himself up. He can’t let his guard down, not now, not when he’s pretty much trapped…

But they’re probably not looking for him, right? It’s the middle of the night, after all, and he had left his comm at his tower…

Tommy’s head dips forward once.

Twice.

And he falls asleep leaning against the dirt wall, shivering, curled in on himself like a small child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, yeah, i know it's a bit short, but it didn't work as well if I tried to make it longer.  
> Don't worry, next chapter'll be up soon!


	22. Silence and Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks, this one involves a (not-quite accurate) depiction of someone with severe hypothermia and an extreme panic attack at the end for some spice. Remember, it's perfectly fine to click away if you feel like you can't deal with it.  
> (Also sorry not sorry for that cliffhanger lol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUICK EDIT I FORGOT TO MENTION THIS FIC NOW HAS OVER 3000 KUDOS POOOOOOG

It’s quiet outside.

Tommy opens his eyes- no, he doesn’t. They stay shut, and it almost hurts when he tries to pry them open. He thinks, maybe, he should be worried about that, but he feels drowsy and warm, despite the dirt wall scratching his cheek. The torch must have finally warmed up the hut.

The storm must be over, too, from the lack of wind blowing outside, but Tommy doesn’t want to get up just yet. 

_ It’s going to be cold out there,  _ he reasons, even as he starts to fall back asleep.  _ I’m nice and warm in here. _

_ Nice and warm. _

“-ommy!”

“Stress, help me...”

“Need... wake...”

Someone’s holding him, cradling him against their chest and tapping his face. He can barely feel it, can barely feel anything.

“Tommy? C’mon, kid…”

Bdubs. It’s Bdubs.

No. No, no, no, he was supposed to hide, he was supposed to leave, he can’t go back, it’s not safe with the button there-

“Don’t,” Tommy rasps, heart pounding in his ears, not sure if he’s actually talking or not. “Don’t do it. Don’t blow it up.”

“Nothing’s getting blown up, Tommy,” Bdubs says, and it sounds like he’s at the other end of a long tunnel, voice fading in and out. “Everything’s fine…”

Tommy tries to shake his head, but he feels so heavy he can barely move.

Who was he talking to, again?

“Tommy, can you open your eyes? Let us see those gray peepers so we know you’re awake?”

That… doesn’t make sense. Tommy’s eyes are blue, or at least, his left eye is. Is it?

It doesn’t matter, not really, because he can’t open them. It’s like there’s a seal over his eyes, and they’re so heavy, and he’s so tired…

“No, no, no, c’mon, bud, you gotta…”

“Get him in…”

“Something… his wing…”

“... eyes… shut…”

Then Bdubs is handing him to someone else, someone bigger, and then they’re moving, and Tommy feels panic well up in his chest. He can’t tell where they’re going, he can’t move, his limbs are numb despite the fact that he feels almost too warm and he can’t get away-

A wave of heat washes over Tommy as whoever’s holding him carefully steps inside some sort of structure, and soon he feels himself being lowered down and held upright in a sitting position on something soft.

Someone gently puts something warm over his eyes and says, “We just gotta fix your wing, alright?”

Tommy tries to flinch away, but someone holds him still as another set of hands gently manipulates his left wing until he hears, more than feels, something  _ click,  _ and a potion bottle is pressed to his lips as they push his wing into its normal folded position. A full-body shudder runs through him as he drinks, the sweet-metallic taste of healing potion coating his tongue and making his head feel a little less fuzzy.

He’s then carefully wrapped in blankets, despite his best efforts to fight back, and when someone uncovers his eyes, he opens them, blinking in the low torchlight, as he’s laid down.

His vision’s a little blurry, and the fact that they laid him down on his left side doesn’t help, but he can make out Grian, kneeling on the floor beside him.

“Hey, Toms,” Grian says, softly. “How are you feeling?”

“‘M hot.” There are too many blankets on him. He was perfectly fine in the dirt hut, why couldn’t they have just left him there?

Grian, though, turns pale, and glances up at someone that Tommy can’t see. “How far away is Tango?”

“Five minutes, he said?” Stress replies, and Tommy’s head is clear enough that he can actually recognize her voice, though he feels the fog start to creep back in. There’s another conversation going on somewhere, but it’s just meaningless noise. He’s so tired...

Tommy jerks as Grian shakes him. He hadn’t even noticed he was starting to fall asleep.

“No, no, Tommy, you gotta stay awake,” Grian urges, a panicked edge to his voice. “You gotta stay awake, alright?”

“The health potion should have helped,” Stress murmurs. Tommy feels her hand on his forehead, and it’s like it’s burning hot. “He’s so cold…”

“Should we take him into the Nether?”

Tommy shrinks back, as much as he’s able when his entire body feels like it’s made of solid rock, and images of burning netherack and cobblestone bridges and looking down into the lava past his own shoes run through his head. No. No, no, no, no, he can’t go there like this, with no chance of running away-

“No. It’d be too much of a shock to his system, we need to warm him up slowly. But I was hoping the potion would have at least helped,” Stress sighs. She’s starting to sound fuzzy again, and Grian sounds like he’s speaking through cotton when he replies with something that Tommy can’t make out. He closes his eyes, just for a second.

Suddenly, he’s being picked up, and once again, his head is rested against someone’s chest. Even through the blankets, this person  _ radiates  _ heat, and they wrap their arms around Tommy and hold him close.

Tommy pries his eyes open, and is able to make out a mop of blonde hair and bright red eyes. His vision is blurry, fading out at the edges, and he can’t seem to keep his eyes open for very long. 

“Hey, Tommy. I’m Tango. Um… we gotta keep you awake, I guess?”

“‘M fine,” Tommy mutters, though he doesn’t know how well it comes through. “‘M just tired…”

“No, you’re not fine, Tommy,” Stress says, gently, and Tommy feels another blanket brush his face as it’s thrown over Tango’s shoulders. “You’ve got hypothermia.”

No, that can’t be right. You’re supposed to feel really cold when you’ve got hypothermia, and Tommy’s almost boiling. He’s just really tired, that’s all.

“Tommy? No, c’mon, you can’t fall asleep, kid…”

Why does everyone sound so far away?

Oh, god, he’s so cold.

Tommy’s woken up by his own violent shivering and the intense pain in his hands and feet and ears and face and wings, oh how his wings are aching, and he can’t even  _ speak  _ through his chattering teeth, can’t even think of anything beyond how fucking cold he is. He can hear some kind of conversation going on, but his head still feels fuzzy, and he can’t make out the words.

He attempts to curl up even tighter, to get some sort of relief, and someone pulls away one of his blankets. When he protests, with a mumble, and lifts an arm to get it back, someone quietly shushes him and tucks a hot water bottle into the layers of fabric, before tucking his arm back inside his little cocoon and adding even more blankets. He almost cries when they help him drink a warm potion, and he feels the painful tingles disappear, as whoever’s holding him pulls him close.

Tommy’s still so, so tired, though, and he feels himself start to drift again before he’s startled awake when the person holding him stands up and carefully deposits him on a bed, making sure not to disturb any of the blankets.

“... try taking him through…”

Tommy tries to focus on what’s going on, on who’s talking and what they’re talking about, but everything stays distant and disjointed as he shakes.

“... carry him…”

“Call X…”

For some reason, that makes it through, and Tommy can hear his heart pound in his ears as he struggles to get out of his blanket wrap because no matter how cold he is, no matter the risk, he can’t still be here when the admin shows up. Tommy messed up, big time, and now Xisuma’s players are  _ helping him  _ when they probably all have things they should be doing. He can’t be here for Xisuma to yell at, he won’t be here for him to demand Tommy’s things, he’ll just leave, it’s not exile if he runs away on his own accord, he can take care of himself.

He manages to open his eyes and get himself halfway off the bed before someone notices, and several pairs of hands pull him back and wrap him up in warm blankets with hot water bottles layered between them and he’s fighting, meaningless words bubbling up and spilling out about how _I_ _promise I won’t come back, I’ll leave you alone, I know I can’t stay here so I’ll find somewhere else to stay just please please let me go don’t let him come don’t let him hurt me please_ as he thrashes and hot tears are sliding down his cheeks and someone’s gently wiping them away and shushing him and he hears Grian’s voice as scarlet feathers block his vision.

“No one is going to hurt you,” Grian says, softly, but that’s not Grian’s choice to make, Tommy doesn’t want Grian to get hurt, he doesn’t want more blood on his hands, he’s already hurt so many people simply by existing-

Grian cups Tommy’s face with a hand, and, eyes glowing a slight purple, murmurs, “ᑑ⚍╎ᒷℸ ̣ ∷ᒷᓭℸ ̣.”

Tommy’s mind goes quiet, his body limp, and he slips away into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	23. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attack, temporary death, self-loathing  
> as always, stay safe, everyone!

Tommy’s head is clearer the next time he wakes up.

He feels more well-rested than he has in weeks- months, really- and for a moment, all he notices is the comforting weight of heavy, thick blankets and the soft pillow beneath his cheek. It’s warm, and he’s still tired, so he almost falls back asleep before the memory of what happened the day before- was it the day before? It feels like he slept for longer than that- hits him like a runaway minecart.

In a flurry of panic, he sits up and throws the blankets off of him, not even registering where he is, just knowing that he needs to  _ get out, leave, go find somewhere safe before anyone with any type of magic bullshit shows up and knocks him out again- _

And promptly falls on his face. 

“Tommy!”

His legs, his wings, his entire body feels like it’s made of lead, but he tries to push himself off the floor as someone carefully picks him up under the armpits and lays him back on the bed, then starts putting the blankets back over him.

His vision is blurry, and it takes a moment for Tommy to focus enough to recognize who it is.

Stress smiles at Tommy as she tucks him in, but Tommy can see the strain in it and tries to get back out. He’s probably pissed off  _ everyone _ , and the fact that they went through the time and the effort to bring him back doesn’t bode well for him. He needs to run,  _ now _ , before Xisuma shows up and decides what to do with him.

Stress is stronger than she looks, though, and Tommy’s still tired and somewhat clumsy, so it doesn’t take long before she’s basically wrestled him back into bed.

“Well, at least we know you’re awake,” she sighs, sitting down heavily on a chair that’s been placed beside Tommy’s bed and rubbing her eyes. Then, she smiles and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Perfect. Ready to go. Just need to stop by my base and I’ll be gone,” Tommy says quickly, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t even stand thirty seconds ago, and goes to get up again. As he does, he realizes that he’s already  _ in  _ his base- though he could have sworn he had eight shulker boxes, not nine. 

Stress pushes him back down, but into a sitting position instead of on his back. Her smile’s been replaced by a frown, and she quickly types something on her comm that Tommy can’t see before tucking it back into the pocket of her cardigan.

“Tommy, you were asleep for over two days,  _ after  _ Grian knocked you out, and you’re probably still recovering from severe hypothermia.”

“I’m fine-” He can’t stay here,  _ won’t _ stay here, and he’d rather leave of his own accord.

_ “Tommy.  _ You were barely breathing when we finally found you a full  _ day  _ after you ran off- scaring Iskall and I half to death, might I add- and we had to wait for Tango to show up, and then potions wouldn’t work-” Stress cuts herself off, takes a deep breath, and says, “You almost died, Tommy.”

That makes him pause. Then, “Grian said there were no canon deaths.”

Stress makes a confused face, but says, “Hypothermia is one of those things that makes respawning… tricky, to say the least. You could have just not respawned at all, or lost all your fingers and toes, gone blind…”

Tommy’s blood runs cold. He remembers the days after the festival, when they had to put bandages over Tubbo’s eyes in order to fully protect the healing burns, and just how  _ vulnerable  _ his best friend-  _ no, no, we don’t call him that anymore, Tubbo is not our friend _ \- his ally had been, almost falling into the ravine several times before they finally barricaded him in the medbay.

He remembers the dread that had come from not knowing if Tubbo would ever be able to see again.

It’s a sobering thought, especially considering that Tommy’s already got one foot in that particular door, and he absently rubs his right eye as Stress keeps talking.

“... honestly, I’m just glad we were able to find you,” Stress finishes, and that’s when Tommy realizes he hasn’t been watching her as closely as he should be, because she’s somehow arranged a couple of multicoloured potion bottles and a mug on top of his ender chest without him noticing.

Then, to Tommy’s surprise, she starts _mixing_ the potions by pouring about a third of each into the mug, adding some kind of glittery powder and pulling a spoon out of her inventory to stir it with before handing it to him.

Tommy can  _ barely  _ hold the mug. His hands feel thick and uncooperative, and he tightens his grip the best he can as he takes a look at the potion inside. It’s a strange, light plum colour with a silvery sheen, and it smells like melons, brimstone, and an underlying, super-sweet scent that Tommy can’t place and makes his nose tingle.

“What was that glittery shit, cocaine?”

“It’s just health, strength, and regen potions with some of Scar’s special sugar.”

“ _ Cocaine?!” _

Stress massages the bridge of her nose. “I suppose I could have worded that better… he makes it out of enchanted sugar cane. It’s supposed to be filling, but gentle on the stomach- we have a couple of workaholics who forget to eat when they’re working on something. Including Scar, actually.” 

Tommy examines the potion mixture again, mixing the colours of the three different potions in his mind’s eye and comparing it to the stuff in the mug. It doesn’t  _ look  _ like there’s poison in it, and Tommy had just watched Stress make it in front of him…

Plus, if they had wanted him dead, they would have just left him in the snow.

Tommy shakily drains the mug, shuddering as the potion mixture sends tingles to the tips of his fingers and toes and wings and makes him feel slightly less heavy. His vision doesn’t improve any, though, and from the way Stress is frowning, it’s clear that the potion isn’t working the way it’s supposed to. 

He tries his best not to flinch as Stress takes the mug from him and presses a hand to his forehead. Then, Tommy catches the sound of fireworks in the distance.

“Good, X’s here,” Stress murmurs, seemingly relieved. Tommy, though, surges up and throws off the blankets again, heart in his throat and panic like ice in his veins.

_ Get out get out get out get away you pissed them off you idiot why did you do that don’t let them hurt you don’t let HIM hurt you don’t trust anyone YOU CAN’T TRUST AN ADMIN GET OUT- _

Tommy makes a beeline for the window and leaps out, spreading his wings wide.

“TOMMY, NO!”

His left wing is stuck in a folded position, and Tommy has just enough time to realize it before he hits the ground _. _

_ <TommyInnit> fell from a high place _

Tommy respawns in his bed, jolting upright and gasping for breath. Before he can focus on anything, though, someone grabs him by the shoulders.

“Easy, Tommy,” Stress says softly. “You’re good, Tommy, you’re safe here, alright?”

It almost works, almost, until Tommy hears the sound of footsteps and looks behind Stress to Xisuma walking down the stairs from the top floor.

Tommy rips himself out of Stress’s grip and scrambles backward until his back hits the wall, twisting the blankets around his feet in his haste to get away and covering his face with his arms. He can’t seem to get enough air, he can’t breathe, he knows he needs to breathe  _ but he can’t, because the admin is right there, and he must be so angry, because all Tommy does is cause problems for people and everyone always gets mad- _

Black spots are dancing in Tommy’s vision, and he feels lightheaded beneath the overwhelming wave of pure panic, but he can’t stop hyperventilating, can’t focus on anything but the fact that  _ Tommy fucked up and the admin’s RIGHT THERE  _ and he needs to just get out before he gets hurt again but he’s backed into a corner, literally-

And everything goes black.


	24. TTIT (Tiny Tommy Investigative Team)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN, A HERMIT POV CHAPTER!

Grian dove towards Tommy’s tower, landing on the cobblestone platform and almost tripping over himself. He’d already been heading over after Stress had sent a message in chat that the kid was awake, and then…

_ <TommyInnit> fell from a high place. _

Even without actually being there, Grian could guess what had happened. Somehow when Tommy had fled, almost three days prior, the poor kid had managed to break his left wing humerus. They had set it, of course, and bound his wing so it could heal, but Grian would be willing to bet that Tommy hadn’t noticed and had tried to escape.

Grian shakes the cobwebs out of his head and heads down to the second floor of Tommy’s tower. To his surprise, he bumps into Xisuma on the stairs.

“What-”

Then, Grian notices how his friend is standing; slumped over and, from what Grian can see behind the helmet, regretful. 

“Grian? Oh, thank the gods,” Stress says. Grian can’t see her, but the worry in her voice says enough. He gently pushes his way past X and makes it to the second floor.

Tommy’s in his bed, yes, but the blankets are tangled around his legs and he’s pressed up against the wall, unbound wing half-flared and arms over his face.

“He just- he just started panicking, Grian. Just- he was calming down after he respawned and then all of a sudden he-” Stress stumbles over her words, hands shaking as she pulls potions out of her inventory and arranges them on the ender chest beside Tommy’s bed. “He just-  _ jumped  _ away from me and wedged himself up against the wall. He was shaking so, so bad, Grian, and starting to hyperventilate, I think-”

Grian carefully grabs Stress’s hands and holds them as he puts a wing around her shoulder. “Did he pass out?”

Stress takes one deep breath, and another, and nods. “He just- he just looked so  _ scared…” _

There’s a clunking noise that Grian knows is X sitting down, and he sighs. 

“Stress,” Grian asks, “Can you back away and give me a bit of space? I’m going to try and move him.”

“Sure.” Stress scooches her chair backwards, letting Grian reach the boy curled up in the corner. As an afterthought, he spreads his wings to block off the rest of the room.

Tommy flinches when Grian touches his arms, but otherwise doesn’t respond as Grian gently and carefully folds his wing back into place, untangles his feet from the blankets, and lays the kid down before pulling the blankets up to Tommy’s shoulders. His breathing is fine, if a little fast, but Grian can feel his heart racing when he carefully lays Tommy’s head down on the pillow.

The kid’s thin, too thin, though Grian can see he’s gained at least a little weight since X and Impulse found him, the bones on his wrists less prominent than before, and even asleep, he looks wary and tense. His wings look too big for his body, but Grian can’t tell if it's because of how skinny the kid is or if Tommy’s in need of a growth spurt.

Tommy doesn’t wake up, which is- concerning, to say the least, but Grian doesn’t want to try anything. He doesn’t know much beyond basic first aid, and he’s not using his magic again. 

Instead, he turns to Stress, who’s comforting Xisuma on the cobble stairs. “Should we try and wake him up?”

Stress sighs and nods. “He should come around in a minute or so, but it would be better if we wake him up if just so we can make sure he’s ok.”

She stands, and X does as well, yellow armour scraping on the stone steps. Instead of following Stress, however, X turns to head upstairs.

“Where are you going, Xisuma?”

Xisuma pauses, halfway up the stairs. “I don’t think I should be here when he wakes up.”

“But you said you wanted to talk to him,” Stress says, confused. 

“I don’t want him passing out again,” Xisuma explains, and Grian can tell that he’s tensing up. “It’s not good for him.”

“But why-”

There’s a shuffling sound, and Xisuma bolts upstairs as Grian and Stress whip around in time to see Tommy, eyes wide, jolt upright.

“Hey, Tommy,” Grian says, smiling what he hopes is a friendly grin. Still, Tommy glances wildly around the room as he backs up into the wall again, already shaking.

“No, no, no, Tommy, you gotta calm down, ok?” Stress urges, and Grian can hear the strain and worry in her voice. 

Tommy’s chest is heaving, and Grian hopes Stress won’t ask him to use magic again. He shouldn’t have done it the first time, but Tommy had just-

Grian wasn’t sure why the broken, panicked look in the kid’s eyes had almost sent him spiraling, but it had. He’d panicked himself, and because of that, Tommy had ended up unconscious for two days.

“W-w-what hap-pened?” Tommy asks, voice trembling. Grian doesn’t miss how Tommy turns his head to keep them in sight as Stress slowly moves closer.

“You passed out. I just want to check your pulse and your breathing, alright?” Stress murmurs, so soft Grian can barely hear her.

Tommy’s gray eyes are so full of fear, it looks like he’s drowning in it, and he’s watching Grian, not Stress, but he nods anyway.

Grian stands, somewhat awkwardly, as Stress takes Tommy’s pulse and listens to his breathing, moving slowly and speaking quietly.

Tommy doesn’t relax.

“Well, your heart is going a little fast, but other than that, you’re fine. I’d suggest staying in bed for a while but if you do get up, just take it easy, alright? We’ll remove the wing wrap when we can be sure a heath potion worked.”

“I’m fine,” Tommy says, and his voice cracks at the end. Not for the first time, Grian wonders just how old Tommy is- he looks like he should be  _ at least  _ 18, but looks can be deceiving. “I don’t even need to fly- I just need to get my coat-”

“Why? You heard Stress, it’s not a good idea for you to be going anywhere right now,” Grian says. 

Tommy looks at him, then at Stress, and the next words that come out of his mouth make them both freeze.

“You’re not… kicking me out?”

Stress and Grian glance at each other in disbelief, and Grian feels his stomach plummet. They’re missing something here.

“Why would we kick you out of  _ your  _ tower, Toms?” Grian asks.

Tommy opens his mouth, hesitates, and closes it. He doesn’t say anything, just curls in on himself in a way that makes Grian’s heart ache. 

There’s a tense moment of silence, Stress and Grian both trying to figure out what to say and Tommy keeping an eye on them.

“Alright, then,” Stress finally sighs, looking out the window. “Grian, why don’t you head back to your base for the night? I’ll stay with Tommy.”

It’s barely 4 o’clock, but Grian realizes that Stress, too, had noticed how he seemed to be the one that Tommy was watching. They can’t leave him alone, either- not when he’s already tried to bolt.

“Alrighty, then,” Grian says, more cheerfully than he really feels. “Good to know you’re ok, Tommy.”

He can feel Tommy’s eyes on him as he heads upstairs, where Xisuma is sitting on the platform.

“I didn’t want to use my fireworks and I'm not sure how far I can make it without them,” X whispers when Grian kneels down.

“Glide off and I’ll pull you along,” Grian whispers back. “You heading to your base, or…”

X shakes his head. “I’m calling a meeting.”

The aptly-named  _ Tiny Tommy Investigative Team  _ met in the abandoned replica Resistance base, following the reasoning that Tommy would have no reason to go digging around under the Shopping District and they could, if asked about it, leave the replica base out of their retelling of the Turf War.

On the board that once held the names of Resistance members, they’ve put up signs about what they know about Tommy ( _ has two or more brothers, one is dead, Dad is an Avian)  _ and the few triggers they’ve managed to figure out.

Mumbo looks sadly at the newest sign as he takes his seat. _ Buttons,  _ of all things. Mumbo was more than willing to admit that he was well aware of how redstone could be weaponized, but what kind of machine had Tommy encountered to make him afraid of buttons?

Or maybe it was something else, Mumbo reasons. Grian has a couple of triggers that seem fairly mundane- blue headphones, for one. Maybe Tommy’s afraid of buttons for a reason completely unrelated to redstone.

Grian and Xisuma are the last to arrive, falling down the entry hole shortly after Cleo, and Grian quickly slips into his seat beside Mumbo.

“You alright?” Mumbo whispers.

“Yeah.”

“Is Tommy alright?”

“I… don’t know.”

Mumbo gives Grian’s hand a squeeze as Xisuma sits down, and Grian squeezes back.

“Alright, so, good news? Tommy’s awake. Bad news is…” Xisuma sighs, and rubs his visor like he sometimes does when he forgets he’s wearing his helmet. “I think he’s scared of me.”

“What? That’s ridiculous, X. You’re dressed as a bee, for God’s sake, and Tommy’s just jumpy around everyone,” Impulse protests. On either side of him, Tango and Zedaph nod.

Grian, however, shakes his head, and Mumbo can see realization in his friend’s eyes. “It’s not just regular jumpy-ness, guys. Tommy  _ passed out  _ from hyperventilating-”

“Because I showed up,” Xisuma finishes. “He saw me over Stress’s shoulder as I came down the stairs after he respawned and panicked so hard he passed out.”

There’s a moment of silence as the seven members present take a second to think.

“I don’t think it’s you he’s scared of, specifically, X,” Mumbo says, and Xisuma glances up to meet his eyes as the redstoner continues, “I think you remind him of someone.”

“Does he do anything specific when he panics?” Cleo asks. “Stuff that he doesn’t otherwise do?”

“Yeah, yeah, he, ah, he always covers his face, like he thinks I’m going to hit him, or something,” Xisuma says.

“His entire face? Or just one side? And with which arm?” Grian asks, rapid-fire, and Mumbo’s eyes widen as he realizes what Grian is trying to figure out.

Xisuma’s clearly realized this, too, but he still answers. “Just the right side, and with both arms, but he keeps his right arm under his left. And he just- it’s happened once before, when I tried to talk to him after mining, and he reached for his axe before I told him to put it away, but then he kind of shrank back and started  _ apologizing  _ and shaking and-”

“And then I showed up,” Grian interrupts. “X, for whatever reason, you remind him of the guy who tried to kill him.”

“No.”

Everyone looks at Cleo, who shakes her head. “I helped Stress clean him up. Those wounds weren’t meant to be fatal. Whatever bastard-”

_ “Cleo!” _

“-did this, wanted Tommy alive. The only reason the wounds turned deadly is because they got infected.” Cleo’s face is grim. “His wrist, specifically. Me and Stress are pretty sure that everything was caused by an axe, but when you compare the one wide, deep cut on his wrist to the relatively shallow slashes on his face, you can see the intent was to disable Tommy, not kill him.”

“God.” Impulse rubs his face with one hand. “What kind of server did Tommy live on?”

“Shouldn’t we be trying to contact his family?” Zedaph asks, like he always does.

“There’s no way of knowing who they are. Whatever glitch got Tommy into Hermitcraft also seemed to have wiped his familial files. Even when I dug deep into his code to find his coords, I didn’t see a single name or address.”

“We do have the name on his compass,” Grian points out. “Just sayin.”

“Tommy barely trusts us and is ready to run at the first sign of trouble,” Mumbo replies.

“Oh, yeah, that reminds me- I don’t know if you heard, X, but Tommy thought we were going to kick him out,” Grian says.

“Of his own house?” Cleo demands, appalled.

“Well, at least  _ some  _ of his incoherent rambling makes sense now,” Tango mutters, and Zedaph smacks him in the arm.

“The kid was running from something,” Xisuma says, side-eyeing the two. “We knew that.”

“X, you know as well as I do no one loses that much weight, that much muscle, simply from ‘running’ and spending five nights in a hole. We’re talking months of malnutrition.” Cleo huffed and crossed her arms. “No wonder he got an infection, the poor kid couldn’t have even fought off a cold the way he was when you guys brought him in.”

“So, maybe Tommy’s been running for a while, then?” Mumbo offers, but he doesn’t think that’s the case.

“No,” Grian says. “He doesn’t seem very nomadic to me, and even with their code messed up, Owls feel… uneasy without somewhere to settle. At least, so I’ve heard.”

“So… bad living conditions?” Zedaph suggests. “Rough winter?”

“War,” Impulse says, grimly. “He’s got scars everywhere, Iskall said he was mining obsidian and covered with lava burns, and he stands like he’s expecting a fight. And that thing with the ‘canon lives’ and the admin deciding whether you respawn or not? My guess is the kid managed to get onto an anarchy server when he turned 18 and wasn’t ready for it, which is fair.”

“That’s not possible,” Xisuma argues. “I found his birthday when I was digging, he’s not old enough to be allowed onto an anarchy server.”

“How old is he, then?” Tango demands.

“16, turning 17 in a couple months.”

You can hear a pin drop.

“Well,  _ fuck.” _


	25. Staircases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok, so, I saw the lore stream (keep the comments spoiler-free, please) and decided to speedrun a mostly fluffy chapter for you guys to combat the angst. Enjoy!

Stress spends the night at Tommy’s, though he doesn’t know if she actually sleeps in the pink bed she places down on the other side of his ender chest. In the morning, she brews him tea and makes him eat golden apple slices as she bustles around organizing his shulkerboxes.

It takes him a while to eat- his fingers still aren’t cooperating.

“Are they working?” Stress asks, when half the plate is gone, and she’s made three extra double chests to sort stuff into on the bottom floor.

Tommy shrugs. “I’ve got a little bit of the absorption, I think,” he says, quietly. His left wing had started throbbing again at some point during the night, and the apples only seem to be taking the slightest edge off. His fingers hurt, too- a strangle, prickly feeling like pins-and-needles turned up to eleven.

Stress bites her lip. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but the fact that you’re still recovering could have something to do with whatever it is that’s stopping the potions and gapples from working properly.”

Tommy flexes his fingers and winces as the sharp, needle-like pain flares up again. 

“This is fucking bullshit,” he mutters, quiet enough that Stress doesn’t hear him. He knows he’s lucky, though- lucky that he didn’t lose any fingers, lucky that his heart didn’t stop beating, lucky that the Hermits had found him-

Wait. How  _ had  _ the Hermits found him?

“Stress?”

“Yeah?”

“How-” Tommy shuffles a bit, and bites back a gasp as his wrapped wing brushes against the wall. “How did you guys find me? I left my comm behind, so there shouldn’t have been any way for you guys to track me or get my coords, but you guys still showed up.”

“Oh, it was all Scar, really. He did some sort of tracking spell while Iskall and I took off after you- not that we had any chance of catching up, and we had to land when the storm started- and he managed to get us your coords pretty quickly,” Stress explains. “We lost time because of the blizzard, but luckily we managed to get to you before you froze to death.”

“I’m never going into a snow biome,  _ ever, _ ” Tommy says, and Stress laughs.

“Well, I’m glad to say that I don’t think anyone’s based in a snow biome this season, so unless you need snow, you won’t really have to.”

Stress’s comm buzzes, and Tommy takes the opportunity to shove more gapple slices into his mouth as she checks it.

“Oh! Grian and Mumbo are heading over!” Stress smiles at Tommy, who’s got juice dribbling down his chin, and adds, “They’re coming to make sure you aren’t  _ too  _ bored grounded.”

Tommy doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

He’d known Grian had magic, obviously- he’d removed the code block, but not by actually pulling up a keyboard- but he’d somehow forgotten that before Grian had knocked him out.  _ For two days.  _

But Grian… hadn’t hurt him. He’d barely used magic at all, actually, and hadn’t even mentioned it, unlike Scar, who had been more than willing to dry out Tommy’s wings when they had gotten back from endbusting. Grian seems to be just… an Avian. It’s confusing, to say the least.

“I can’t wait,” Tommy lies.

Grian and Mumbo land with a  _ thud  _ that Tommy can hear through the layers of cobblestone, and he goes to get up. He half-expects Stress to try and stop him, but instead, she helps him stand on his own two feet, being careful of his broken wing. Thankfully, probably due to the fact that he was still wearing his boots when he ran off, his toes aren’t as bad as his fingers, and Tommy can stand relatively fine.

His wing hurts like a  _ bitch,  _ though, and he’s actually feeling slightly winded just from getting up.

“Take it easy, yeah?” Stress says, as Grian comes clomping down the stairs with Mumbo close behind. “Don’t push yourself, especially since potions and the like still aren’t working. And absolutely  _ no  _ flying, understood?”

Tommy doesn’t tell her how it feels like he could barely unfold his wing without curling into a ball and crying, nevermind actual flight, but he nods.

“Hey! You’re out of bed!” Grian says, grinning. Tommy watches his hands for any trace of purple sparks, and sees none. “That’s great!”

“Well, I’m off, then. I’m trusting Mumbo to keep an eye on you two and make sure Tommy doesn’t get hurt again,” Stress says cheerfully, handing Mumbo a blue shulker and adding, “These are regen potions- we’ve been trying them every couple hours, but so far, no luck.”

“Wait, what? Why are you putting me in charge?” Mumbo asks, confused, and Tommy notices that he’s dressed differently- he looks like an extra from  _ Lord of the Rings _ . 

“Because out of you and Grian, you’re the one I trust  _ not  _ to get up to war-starting shenanigans in a single day,” Stress replies, light-heartedly, and reaches up to pat Mumbo on the head. 

“You start a war one time…”

“Twice, Grian. You’ve started a war,  _ twice _ ,” Mumbo chuckles. “The second time was even just because you were bored!”

“I regret nothing,” Grian says. “Maybe I’ll start another war, depending on what this whole  _ HCBBS  _ thing turns out to be.”

“Here’s an idea- how about we don’t,” Tommy snaps. It’s the first words he’s spoken since Grian and Mumbo got here, and all three hermits blink at him in surprise.

“No, no, Toms, not- not a  _ real  _ war, something like the Turf War,” Grian says quickly. “And I was joking, alright?”

_ That’s not something most people joke about,  _ Tommy thinks, but he nods anyway.

“Alright, well, let me know if you need anything,” Stress says, heading up the stairs. “Bye, Tommy!”

“Wait,” Tommy says, realizing something. “Where’s my comm?”

“Oh! I have it,” Mumbo replies, pulling it out of his pocket. “You dropped it pretty hard, so I fixed it for you!”

“Thanks,” Tommy mutters, taking it from him. He turns it on for a second, to make sure everything is working, then turns it off again and tucks it into the pocket of his pants.

He flinches as the sound of a firework signals Stress’s departure, and asks, “What’s the plan, then?”

“Well, Stress says you need to take it easy, so any convoluted pranks are out,” Grian muses, sitting down on the bottom step. “No flying practice, either.”

Tommy lowers himself down onto the floor, making sure he’s out of reach, and Mumbo sits on the floor beside Grian. They make a sort of wonky triangle shape, and from where he’s sitting, Tommy can easily keep his eye on both of them.

“I could teach you some redstone, if you’d like,” Mumbo offers. “I know you have kind of a medieval castle theme going, but a simple piston door into the basement would be really cool- like a hidden passageway, almost.”

“I can’t do redstone. I don’t even have the stuff for it,” Tommy says, picking at the cuffs of his borrowed sweatpants. “And I don’t have any way to get down to the basement, unless MLG water bucket counts as ‘taking it easy’ and ‘not pushing myself’.”

“That’s where the ‘teaching’ part comes in,” Mumbo says happily. “And I actually had the foresight to bring some redstone components with me!”

“You won’t have to actually do anything,” Grian adds. “Learning from Mumbo is mostly just sitting on the floor and trying not to fall asleep.”

“Hey- you know what, yeah, that’s- that’s fair,” Mumbo grumbles, but he’s smiling as he shrugs.

Tommy toys with a loose thread as he thinks. Learning how to make a hidden entrance does sound cool, but he still doesn’t quite believe that none of the Hermits are mad at him. Could this be a trap somehow?

He’s so, so confused.

“Yeah, alright. I guess we can do the piston door or whatever,” Tommy says, trying to act like he doesn’t really care. “Doesn’t solve the problem of how I’m gonna get down there, though.”

“WHO THE FUCK BUILT ME STAIRS?”

Tommy stands at what  _ used  _ to be his one-block jumping hole and stares down at the two-block wide oak wood staircase spiraling down the inside of his tower. Whoever built it even took the time to add railings, in the form of spruce planks and fences, which made the entire thing actually  _ three  _ blocks wide.

“I’m pretty sure it was Scar, maybe?” Grian replied, already heading down. “I remember we asked someone to just put up a staircase real quick, when we realized we couldn’t fly you up, but clearly he had a different idea of what a ‘quick’ staircase is supposed to look like.”

“Why couldn’t you guys fly me up?” Tommy asks, as he follows behind Mumbo.

Both Grian and Mumbo tense up.

“Well,” Grian says, hesitantly, “I- well, I panicked a bit after you woke up in the shelter and tried to run, which is why I knocked you out, which I am really, really sorry about, and I swear I will never, ever do it again-”

Tommy decides not to take that to heart, but at least Grian  _ seems  _ sorry.

“-and I wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind to carry you myself, and we didn’t want to use rockets any more then we had to, and I am totally rambling right now, but the long and short of it is is that it’s hard to land on a platform when you’re carrying someone and flying with elytra, so in the end, we decided to just have whoever was carrying you land on the ground and then carry you up the stairs instead,” Grian finishes.

“Oh.” Tommy has to pause and take a breath, leaning against the railing. “I guess that makes sense.”

“You alright?” Mumbo asks, stopping a few stairs below. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Tommy says, and grits his teeth as he straightens up. “Just- catching my breath.”

“I can fly you down, if it’s too much,” Grian offers, and Tommy can hear the concern in his voice, though he can’t tell if it’s real or not.

“Nah, I’m good. We’re almost there, anyway.”

When they finally reach the ground floor, Grian makes Tommy sit down and eat another golden apple.

“When we’re done back here, I’m gonna fly you back up, alright?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy says, taking the gapple from Grian and being careful not to actually touch him. This time, the absorption is a bit stronger and lasts a bit longer, and Tommy can feel the faintest hint of regeneration, before it wears off and fades into nothing.

“Did that one-”

“Bit better than before, but not by much,” Tommy replies, cutting Grian off. Standing, he adds, “Let’s go see what Mumbo’s doing.”

He stumbles a little, but pulls away when Grian tries to steady him, snapping, “I don’t need any help.”

“Alright.”

Mumbo’s waiting for them by the staircase to Tommy’s basement, two red shulkers placed on the wall. He’s got his pickaxe in hand and is studying the stairs, rubbing his chin and muttering to himself.

“Okay, so, I will admit, this may be slightly more complicated then I may have originally planned,” Mumbo explains, turning to face Tommy and Grian. “How about this: I’ll just occasionally ask you to put down a piston, or place a repeater or two, and we’ll go over the basics as we work.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tommy replies, shrugging.

“Brilliant! Let’s get to work, then!”

Mumbo’s a good teacher, even if he talks a bit quickly. He shows Tommy which blocks to remove, which to keep, and even puts down some spare pistons to explain quasi-connectivity when Tommy asks about it.

Grian, however, insists that he ‘doesn’t do redstone’ and instead sits on the floor, typing on his communicator, preening the parts of his wings that he can reach, and mimicking random noises. He’s paying attention, though- he must be, because every time Mumbo or Tommy place down a redstone torch, or flick a lever, he makes a sound like a piston firing. 

“Grian, this lever is literally not even connected to anything!”

“You still looked, though.”

Tommy stifles a laugh, and Grian grins as Mumbo mutters to himself and picks up the lever.

_ “Ka-chunk!” _

“Grian!”

Despite the distractions, Tommy, to his surprise, actually starts to get the hang of things. Piston goes  _ here,  _ powered by  _ this  _ repeater, so that it pushes  _ this  _ stair into place and pulls it out of sight. Then another piston,  _ here _ , to push a cobblestone block to cover the entrance.

He doesn’t quite get how jukeboxes fit in there, but that doesn’t matter- he just does what Mumbo tells him to do.

When Tommy finally puts the last block in place, and Mumbo wiggles out of where he’d jammed himself into the circuitry and covers up the hole in the floor, Tommy realizes that it was actually kind of fun.

“You want to do the honours?” Mumbo asks, gesturing to the lever that should, theoretically, make the staircase appear. Tommy nods, walks over, and flips it.

With the sound of many hidden pistons firing in sequence, the basement staircase suddenly appears, and Tommy whoops.

“It worked!”

“Yes! Yes, it did!”  Mumbo pats Tommy on the shoulder. “You’re not bad at redstone, actually. I can show you a few more tricks, if you’d like.”

Tommy waves him off. “Nah, man, it was all you. I’m good for now.”

He flips the lever again, and the staircase vanishes into the floor perfectly. Then-

_ “Ka-chunk!” _

“GRIAN!”


	26. Here We Go Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. um, holy shit my guys, this fic is now the top fic in the Hermitcraft tag on AO3 in terms of Kudos. I cannot thank you guys enough. Oh my god.
> 
> also, I tried the multiple POVs again, and I think it turned out alright, but feel free to tell me your thoughts!
> 
> As always, enjoy!

True to his word, when the sun starts to cast long shadows through the empty windows and the sky is tinted pink, Grian has Tommy hang onto his front like a baby koala as he flies up the outside of Tommy’s tower to land on the platform.

It’s not comfortable, not by a long shot, mainly due to the height difference and the fact that Tommy spends the entire trip tense, waiting to feel that faint heat and see the purple sparks of Grian’s magic. More tense than usual, that is, because he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

He doesn’t get it- why is no one mad at him? Why are they making sure he has a steady supply of gapples and healing potions instead of sending him away, why do they seem concerned about how he’s supposedly not recovering like he should, why do they seem to  _ care? _

“What do you want for dinner, Toms?” Grian asks, setting Tommy down and shaking him out of his thoughts. 

“I’m not hungry. You guys can eat what you want,” Tommy replies gruffly.

With that, Tommy turns and heads down to the second floor, where his bed is, and sits on it. He wants to lean against the wall, but with his left wing as it is, he doesn’t think that’d be a good idea, and he doesn’t want to lay down. If he lays down, he’ll fall asleep, and he doesn’t want to fall asleep, because he’s overdue for a nightmare by now-

“Are you alright, Tommy?”

Tommy jumps when Grian places a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t heard him approach.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, but you were staring into space again.” Grian smiles, but Tommy just pulls away.

He tucks his knees up under his chin and mutters, “I’m fine.”

He just wants to know when they’re kicking him out, or if they’re thinking up some other punishment.

Grian makes an ‘mmmhm’ sound in the back of his throat, and stands. Then, to Tommy’s surprise, he sighs heavily and asks, “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“We skipped lunch, though.”

“And you guys have been basically shoving gapples down my fucking throat,” Tommy shoots back. “I’m not fucking hungry, alright?”

“Alright.”

They both look up at the sound of Mumbo’s footsteps as he finally makes it up the stairs, panting slightly.

“I say the next thing we build, Tommy, is a couple of water elevators,” Mumbo grumbles, sitting down in the single chair that Stress had left behind.

“No way in hell,” Tommy snaps. “My wings are as heavy as shit when they’re wet.”

“Watch your language, please,” Mumbo says, then continues, “You make water elevators using bubble columns. Since there’s so much air in there-”

“I’ve tried water elevators, Mumbo,” Grian interrupts. “Yes, your  _ clothes  _ may be dry, but for some reason feathers seem to catch and hold more water, and it is not fun to walk around with wet feathers all day, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Yes, yes, Grian,” Mumbo says, waving him off, and Tommy gets the feeling that this is a conversation they’ve had before. “Oooooooh, maybe a machine that automatically dries you off…”

“Mumbo, the last time you and Iskall tried something like that you guys ended up almost burning off half my feathers.”

“In our defence, we were aware that that was a possibility, and that’s why we gave you fire resistance first.”

“That doesn’t make it any better!”

Tommy lets their voices fade into the background, and watches the sky through the window behind Mumbo. The faintest edge of indigo is just starting to bleed into the sky along the horizon; he’s facing the wrong way to see the actual sunset, but he doesn’t want to move. 

_ And sunsets are for with Tubbo,  _ a traitorous little part of his mind murmurs.  _ Sunsets are for with Tubbo and discs and- _

“Are you guys gonna be staying the night?” Tommy asks, just to stop his inner ramblings, and interrupting whatever the two Hermits were talking about.

He can see them turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye, but he keeps his eyes on this one wisp of pink-stained cloud slowly making its way across the sky.

“Well, um-” Mumbo stumbles over his words. “We don’t both have to be here if you don’t want, but one of us has to stay with you. You know, just in case-”

“I try to run away?” Tommy mutters, pretending not to care, but his heart’s racing again. He tries not to let his panic show as he adds, “You guys are, what, my guards or some shit?”

There’s a brief moment of silence that Grian breaks with a sigh.

“We’re just worried about you running off and getting hurt again,” the Avian says softly. 

“So that’s a yes, then,” Tommy mutters, mostly to himself, but Grian must have very good hearing, because he comes over and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of Tommy.

“We’re not guards, Toms. We’re just here to make sure you don’t get hurt. Think of it as… a sleepover with friends.” Grian smiles, but Tommy’s blood runs cold. 

_ “I’m your friend, Tommy, your only friend, remember? I’m here to watch you and make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” _

He was right. They are his guards. Who ordered this- Xisuma?

Grian and Mumbo are talking to him, and to each other, but Tommy goes back to zoning out and watching the cloud.

He can’t sleep. His nerves won’t let him, and his mind is whirring with worries and theories about why and who would bother to set up a guard to keep him in his tower. He broke his wing, for Prime’s sake- it’s not like he can fly away.

Tommy pretends to sleep, though; long enough to let the waxing moon rise far into the sky and listen for the deep, even breathing that means his guards have fallen asleep, long enough that he feels safe to tiptoe out of bed and reach for Wilbur’s old coat where it’s been hung by the stairs, long enough that he quietly opens a chest to pull out some steak and gapples he saw Grian throw in there, long enough that he sneaks downstairs to where Stress had told him she’d put the map of the server.

There’s a rustling sound upstairs, and he freezes. No other noises follow, however, and he’s able to head down the main staircase unhindered.

Not before he leaves his communicator and a hastily-written note in the chest where the map was, however.

Cleo never sleeps particularly deeply; the zombified part of her always wants to prowl, to hunt, the second the moon comes up, and it makes for many a restless night. 

Luckily, Joe is always willing to play a late-night game of poker or crib or whatever they’re feeling at the moment, and he usually brings along one or two of the dogs as well, which is a plus.

Which is why they’re both wide awake at 3 in the morning when Grian sends a panicked message in the chat.

_ <Grian> TOMMYS GONE _

_ <Grian> WOKE UP AND THE BED WAS COLD _

_ <MumboJumbo> just checked the chest stress said she put the maps in _

_ <MumboJumbo> he left his comm and a note not to try to follow him _

_ <Stressmonster101> oh no! _

“The kiddo’s that jumpy?” Joe asks.

Cleo nods sadly as their comms keep buzzing. “I’ve only met him once, but with what I saw and what I’ve heard at TTIT meetings… I think he’s just a really, really scared kid, Joe, who’s had a really, really rough time.”

“Yeah, you said something about him having what looked like a nightmare that time he stayed over.” Joe absent-mindedly starts shuffling the cards again as he continues, “If Xisuma hadn’t told you he was 16 I would’ve said he came from an anarchy server for sure.”

“I think that’s what most of us were thinking, honestly,” Cleo admits.

They fall back into their usual silence as Joe deals out the next hand, occasionally checking the chat for updates, though none are forthcoming. Outside, it starts to rain.

The black sky is working its way towards dark gray when Cleo glances out the window and freezes.

There’s a player stumbling away from her Nether portal, and when they pass by a torch, Cleo sees a flash of feathers and a familiar brown leather coat steaming in the rain.

“Oh my gods, I think Tommy just came out of my portal!”

Both she and Joe are up in a flash, and Joe whistles to bring the two dogs to his side as they rush through the hall and out the door.

“TOMMY!”

It’s definitely him- Cleo can see the wings, left one still bound, and Tommy turns to look at them for a split second before breaking out into an unsteady run, slipping on the slick grass.

_ He’s still recovering,  _ Cleo thinks, and out loud, she shouts, “TOMMY, STOP!”

The kid doesn’t even slow down- if anything, he tries to speed up.

All it takes is a look from her to Joe before he whistles again, a sharp, piercing sound.

The dogs sprint ahead, much faster than any player could ever hope to be, and trip Tommy up by running between his legs before laying down on top of him, just as they’re trained to do when a Hermit tries to run after pranking Joe or Cleo- restraining but not injuring.

Cleo and Joe wince in unison when the kid goes down. That’s probably not going to help calm him down, but they need to make sure he’s alright as quickly as possible and stop him from running off again.

Sure enough, they can hear Tommy’s panicked breathing before they even reach him, and he’s trying to throw the dogs off by rolling or shoving.

“Should I…” Joe gestures to the pile of fur and feathers with one hand, squinting to see Cleo through the raindrops on his glasses.

Cleo shakes her head. “Stay out of sight,” she says quietly. “He knows me, but he doesn’t know you, and he’s scared enough as it is with two giant dogs on top of him.”

Joe nods, and stays right where he is as Cleo slowly makes her way to where Tommy’s head is sticking out, being as loud as possible so Tommy knows she’s coming.

“Hey, Tommy,” she greets him, softly, laying down in the dirt so she can look him in the eye without him having to strain his neck. 

The kid’s shaking, face pale, bags under his eyes, uninjured eye wide and clouded with pain and fear, and his voice is strained when he stutters, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was your portal- I was- I was just-”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Cleo assures him. “I don’t mind you using my portal. I’m sorry for having the dogs sit on you.”

“Let me go,” Tommy begs, and something in his voice makes Cleo’s heart clench. “Please, please, I’ll leave you alone, just let me go, please-”

In her head, Cleo curses enough to put Xisuma on a bad day to shame. She can’t let Tommy run off, obviously, and she needs to tell the other Hermits they’ve found him, but she’s not sure he even knows what he’s saying and adding more people is not going to help when he’s scared out of his mind.

“Tommy, look at me, alright?” Cleo asks him, cutting off more panicked rambling. “Do you know who I am?”

“C-Cleo?” Tommy’s eyes clear, just a little. “You- you fixed Wil- my coat.”

“Yes, I did. You visited my base with Mumbo and Grian, remember? And I took you down to the lab?”

She’s getting somewhere, she can tell, because at least Tommy’s responding instead of just panicked begging.

“Y-yeah.” Tommy sniffs, and Cleo realizes that it’s not just rain making his face wet. 

“Tommy,” Cleo says, glancing up at Joe to make sure he’s listening, “If we let you up, will you try to run?”

Tommy deflates, and shakes his head. “‘M sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Tommy,” Cleo assures him, and he shakes his head again.

“I ran away,” the kid sniffs, and it almost breaks Cleo’s heart. “‘M not supposed to run away. Grian’ll be mad.”

Joe whistles, and the dogs roll off of Tommy. He whimpers when they jostle his broken wing, and Cleo gets up out of the mud and picks him up as well. He flinches when she touches him, but as far as Cleo can tell, Tommy’s either too tired to care or just given up.

“Grian’s not mad, Tommy. Okay?”

“I don’t wanna get exiled again,” Tommy murmurs, head on her shoulder, and if Cleo’s blood had still been warm it would have turned to ice. A quick glance at Joe’s shocked face confirms that she didn’t mishear him.

“Don’t worry, Tommy,” Cleo says quietly, as she and Joe head back to the house. “We’re not going to exile you. You didn’t do anything wrong, alright?”

Tommy mutters something, but it’s too soft for Cleo to catch.

They get inside, and Joe says, “I’ll go get a couple of towels.”

And that’s when Cleo realizes Joe’s soaking wet, while she and Tommy are both soaking wet and covered in mud. She glances at the clock on the wall.

Joe leans in and whispers, on the opposite side of Cleo so Tommy won’t hear him, “I messaged the others that we found him. They’re letting us try and get him to sleep or at least calmed down before anyone else comes by.”

Cleo nods, and replies, “Alright. How about an early breakfast once we get all this mud off, then?”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [everyday_fangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyday_fangirl/pseuds/everyday_fangirl) Log in to view. 




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